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POEMS, 



ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED, 



BY 






WILLIAM Ww CALDWELL. 



I 




BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE: 
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 

MDCCCLVII. 



C fT(, 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 

James Munroe and Company, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



riverside, Cambridge: 
printed by h. 0. houghton and company. 



TO 



MY CHILDREN 



ELEANOR AND ALICE 



CONTENTS. 



I. 

ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Page 

ON THE RIVER 3 

ROBIN 'S COME . 7 

VIOLET .......... 9 

WHAT SAITH THE FOUNTAIN 13 

MOORLAND FARM 15 

MINNIE 20 

FANCIES . 23 

THE DRYAD 26 

SONG . , . 31 

THE VASE 33 

THEY TELL ME . 36 

MAY SONGr 38 

AT A GRAVE 42 



VU1 CONTENTS. 

Page 

MARY OF BETHANY 45 

LULLABY 47 

SONG 49 

WILLIE 51 

A MAY DREAM 55 

MY MOTHER'S SONG 58 

BON VOYAGE 61 

WHEN COMETH SPRINGTIME 64 

WHERE WILLIE LIES 66 

THE LILAC FLOWER 69 

CARL AND I 72 

PHENE 77 

AUTUMN . . . ... . . . 82 

JESSAMINE 85 

BY THE RIVER 87 

FROM ARMAND 90 

SHE STANDS UPON THE LONELY SHORE . . 93 

TO A. H. . . . ... . . .97 

AGNES . . 99 

THE DESERT FOUNTAIN . . . . . .103 

ELEANORA . 105 

MARIA 110 

GOOD NIGHT . . . . . . . . 114 

OLIVET. . . ... .. . .117 



CONTENTS. IX 

Page 
THE HERMITAGE . . . . . . . 119 

MY WALTER 123 

AUTUMNAL 126 

THE RISING MOON 129 

CHRISTMAS EVE 133 

WHITHER .136 

LILLIAN 139 

SNOWFLAKES ........ 142 

II. 

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 

HEBEL. 

THE LITTLE WITCH 147 

THE HAPPY WIFE 150 

THE CHERRY-TREE . . . . . . .154 

THE EVER CONTENTED SMOKER . . . . 157 

THE WATCHMAN'S CRY 159 

WINTER . 162 

AGATHA AT THE BIER OF HER GODFATHER . .165 

GEIBEL. 

I AM THE MEADOW ROSE .171 

PERGOLESI 173 



X CONTENTS. 

Page 
LONGING , • .176 

A RHINE LEGEND . . . . . . . 178 

THE MAIDEN'S SONGS 181 

THE VAYVOD'S DAUGHTER 184 

WHEN TWO HEARTS PART FOREVER . . .188 

DANTE 190 

THE MORNING WALK 192 

THE TWO ANGELS 194 

GAZE NOT ON ME 196 

FRIEDRICH ROTHBART 198 

AT A FEAST . . . . . . . . 202 

EVENING SONG OF A WEARY ONE .... 204 

SPRING IS A HERO BOLD AND KEEN .... 206 

O! WHEREFORE IS THE SPRING SO FAIR . . 207 

FROM OUT YON TENT OF CLOUDS, THE SUN . . 209 

CITA MORS RUIT 211 

ONWARD 213 

THE MAIDEN IN HADES 215 

KING POET 218 

GONDOLA SONG 221 

THE PAGE 223 

THE STAG AND ROE 226 

FAR AWAY 229 

FAREWELL 231 



CONTENTS. XI 

Page 

GIPSEY LIFE 233 

O YOUTH 235 

ARE THE BRIGHT STARS TENDER LAMBKINS . .237 

THE QUIET LOTUS-LILY 238 

AT EVE WHEN O'ER THE ROSY SEA .... 239 

THOU GENTLE EVE OF SPRINGTIME . . . 240 

WOULD I MIGHT DIE AS DIES THE SWAN . . 241 

BIRDLING, WHITHER NOW I PRAY .... 243 

GOLDEN BRIDGES, TRULY 244 

LOVE AMID THE ROSES SANG ... . 244 

WHEN WITH SAP THE GRAPEVINE SWELLS . . 246 

WILL NO ONE TELL ME, PRAY .... 246 

A WREATH OF CORN-FLOWERS I WILL PLACE . . 248 

MY HEART IS LIKE THE GLOOMY NIGHT . . 249 

LOOK ON YON SEA 249 

THE ROSES BLOOM NO LONGER .... 250 

HEART OF MINE NO LONGER MOURN . . .251 

OFTEN HAS MY MOTHER TOLD ME . . . 252 

A WASTING FIRE CREEPETH 253 

ONCE DAY AND NIGHT WITHOUT CONTROL . . 255 

NOW I HOLD THEE FACE TO FACE .... 255 

FALLERSLEBEN. 

THE GREEN LEAVES RUSTLE FAR AND NEAR . . 259 



Xli CONTENTS. 

Page 
SEE HOW THIS HYACINTH DOTH GROW . 260 

WOULD I MIGHT WITH THE SWALLOWS FLY . .261 

LONG TIME AS ONE IN DEATH I LAY . . . 262 

EVERY THING IS STILL AND COLD . . . .263 

WHAT CARE I WHETHER SNOW FALLS . . . 264 

YES, THOU ART MINE 264 

ANONYMOUS. 

"OUR FATHER." 269 

BALLAD . 272 

JOY AND PAIN 276 



ORIGINAL POEMS. 



ORIGINAL POEMS. 



ON THE RIVER. 

Upon the silver tide, once more, 
"We float adown the quiet stream ; 

No murmur, save the dipping oar, 
To break the silence of our dream, 

The dipping oar — and, far away, 

The sea-waves at their restless play. 

friend beloved ! I come to thee, 
Aweary of the world's unrest, 



ON THE RIVER. 

« 

Glad on thy bosom thus to be, 

As infant on its mother's breast, — 
To feel thy great heart heaving nigh, 
And hear thy rippling lullaby. 

I loved, in childhood's gladsome hour, 
To watch thy broad majestic sweep 

Move slowly on, with kingly power, 
Ship-laden to the mighty deep, — 

Finding, along thy pebbly shore, 

Sweet dreams which time can bring no more. 

And later, when love's radiance fell 
Upon my heart, with starry glow, 

I came to thee, each hope to tell, 
Each phase of passion's ebb and flow ; 

To thee alone, untouched by shame, 

Revealing the beloved's name. 

My thoughts float back along time's stream, - 
For memory the helm hath ta'en, — 



ON THE RIVER. 

And, sitting by my side, I seem 

To see the loved, the lost again ; 
And still, as in the past, to hear 
The merry laugh, the words of cheer. 

But daylight fades. Along the west, 
The sunset crimsons all the sky, 

The tinted clouds, in moveless rest, 
Reflected in the water lie ; 

And look, beside the moaning sea, 

The watchlights glimmering fitfully. 

The calm of heaven descends o'er all, 
And rests the boatman on his oar, 

As though he heard the vespers' call 
Ring softly from Sicilia's shore. 

Thank God, that ever, here as there, 

The Father hears his children's prayer. 

But soon, amid the shadows dim, 
We turn upon our homeward way, 



ON THE KIVEE. 

Nor heed the full moon's rising rim, 

Bridging the waves with golden raj, 
Till now, beside the shore, we feel 
The coarse sands grate against our keel. 



ROBIN'S COME. 

From the elm-tree's topmost bough, 
Hark ! the robin's early song, 

Telling, one and all, that now 
Merry spring-time hastes along ; 

Welcome tidings thou dost bring, 

Little harbinger of spring ! 

Robin's come. 

Of the winter we are weary, 
Weary of its frost and snow, 

Longing for the sunshine cheery, 
And the brooklet's gurgling flow ; 

Gladly then we hear thee sing 

The reveille of the spring. 

Robin's come. 

Ring it out o'er hill and plain, 

Through the garden's lonely bowers, 



8 robin's come. 

Till the green leaves dance again, 

Till the air is sweet with flowers ; 
Wake the cowslip by the rill, 
Wake the yellow daffodil. 

Robin 's come. 

Then, as thou wert wont of yore, 
Build thy nest and rear thy young, 

Close beside our cottage door, 
In' the woodbine leaves among ; 

Hurt or harm thou need'st not fear, 

Nothing rude shall venture near. 
Robin 's come. 

Swinging still o'er yonder lane, 

Robin answers merrily ; 
Ravished by the sweet refrain, 

Alice claps her hands in glee, 
Shouting, from the open door, 
With her clear voice, o'er and o'er, 
" Robin 's come ! " 



VIOLET. 



'Twas in the May-time of the year, 
When hawthorn buds first 'gan to peer, 
That, 'neath the murmuring pines, I met 
My gentle dream-love, Violet. 



A fragrant bower, a leafy shade, 
A lover and a gentle maid, — 
Though years have fled, I see them yet, 
And all thy beauty, Violet. 

Soft raven hair in lustrous curl, 
A brow as clear and pure as pearl, 
Large purple eyes, like pansies wet 
With early dew, my Violet, 



10 VIOLET. 

A simple gown of snowy white, 
One little foot but half in sight, 
And, rounding all, a grace which jet 
Makes memory glad, dear Violet. 



The jocund birds upon the spray 
Trilled over thee their sweetest lay, 
And timid woodflowers turned to get 
A glance of love from Violet. 



Fanned by the perfumed airs of May, 
Anear thee, on the grass, I lay, 
And read aloud sweet rhymes that set 
Our hearts aflame, dear Violet ; — 



How Juliet, child of love and woe, 
Breathed all her soul to Romeo ; 
And how, on Agnes' eve divine, 
Young Porphyro wooed Madeline ; 



VIOLET. 11 

How, in her sleep, the Demon's spell 
Entranced the Lady Christabel ; 
And how, one " rich and balmy eve," 
The poet won his Genevieve. 



Then bolder grown, I dared to tell 
How Love had bound me in his spell ; 
Quick, from thine eyes, a glance I met 
That told me all, my Violet. 



I spake your name ; in eager haste 
My fond arms zoned your slender waist, 
And, lip to lip, the seal was set 
That made us one, dear Violet. 

Soon, o'er the pines, the sunset glowed, 
Through rosy clouds the large moon rode. 
Weaving, with silvery threads, a net 
Round thee and me, my Violet. 



12 VIOLET. 

There, in the leafy twilight dim, 
You sang to me the Vesper. Hymn ; 
Entranced, I deemed thine eyes of jet 
An angel's eyes, dear Violet. 



Ah ! golden dreams of youth and May, 
Like shadows swift ye fled away, 
And soon, for me, forever set 
My star of love, my Violet. 



Yet, ever in my heart shall stay 
The memory of that blissful day, 
When, 'neath the murmuring pines, I met 
My gentle dream-love, Violet. 



WHAT SAITH THE FOUNTAIN? 

What saith the Fountain, 

Hid in the glade, 
Where the tall mountain 
Throweth its shade ? 
" Deep in nry waters, reflected serene, 
All the soft beauty of heaven is seen ; 
Thus let thy bosom, from wild passions free, 
Ever the mirror of purity be." 

What saith the Streamlet, 

Flowing so bright, 
Clear as a beamlet 
Of silvery light ? 
" Morning and evening still floating along, 
Upward forever ascendeth my song ; 
Be thou contented, whate'er may befall, 
Cheerful in knowing that God is o'er all." 



14 WHAT SAITH THE FOUNTAIN. 

What saith the River, 

Majestic in flow, 
Moving, forever, 
Calmly and slow ? 
" Over my surface the great vessels glide, 
Ocean-ward borne by my strong-heaving tide ; 
Work thou, too, brother, life vanisheth fast, 
Labor unceasing, rest cometh at last." 

What saith the Ocean, 
Boundless as night, 
Tumultuous in motion, 
Resistless in might ? 
" Fountain to streamlet, streamlet to river, 
All in my bosom commingle forever ; 
Morning to noontide and noontide to night, 
Soon will eternity veil thee from sight." 



MO ORL AND FARM. 

Far beyond the open door, 
Lies the long and level moor, 
On and on, to where we see 
Ocean's blue infinity. 
There, above the mottled grass, 
Flocks of beach birds swiftly pass, 
Wing of sea-gull floating high, 
Or the plover's plaining cry. 
By the stagnant water, grows 
Pale blue flag and wilding rose ; 
And, the distant shore above, 
Rolling mists and vapors move, 
Veiling Nature's sadder mood — 
Barren waste and solitude — 
Giving wildness to the charm 
Of the dear, old Moorland Farm. 



16 MOORLAND FARM. 

But, inland, the varied view 
Wears a softer, sunnier hue, 
And the fertile fields are seen, 
Waving with a tender green, 
Skirted by a forest wide, 
Creeping up a steep hillside ; 
Here we turn our weary feet, 
Gladly, from the city's heat, 
Childhood's air to breathe once more, 
Childhood's memories to restore, — 
Where the bright and balmy day, 
Fragrance of the new-mown hay, 
Low of cattle, hum of bees, 
And the murmur of the trees, 
Make idyllic all the charm 
Lingering round the Moorland Farm. 

When the sun, with radiance bright, 
Drives away the shades of night, 
Seek we then the woodlands dim, 
List the wild birds matin hymn, 
Or watch the flowers ope their eyes, 



MOORLAND FARM. 17 

Fragrant with a glad surprise, 

After midnight's dusky sway, 

To see the splendor of the day. 

Soft the summer breezes blow, 

As across the fields we go, 

Where the farmers, strong and blithe, 

Lay the keen and glittering scythe 

To the ripe and dewy grass — 

Merry greeting as we pass — 

Adding grace to all the charm 

Of a morn at Moorland Farm. 

But when noontide 'gins to burn, 
Slowly back our steps we turn, 
And within the welcome gloom 
Of the shady-curtained room, 
Sit and while away the time 
With some poet's tuneful rhyme, 
Converse high or musings deep, 
Lapsing softly into sleep, 
Till, with voice like silver rill, 
Prattling down some pebbly hill, 
2 



18 MOORLAND FARM. 

Maggie comes to break our dream, 
With a bowl of luscious cream, 
Thick with berries, ripe and sweet, 
Plucked by tiny fingers neat, 
Offered with a smile to charm 
Visitor at Moorland Farm. 

Evening falling, cool and still, 
We ascend the neighboring hill, 
There to watch the sunset die 
Over all the glowing sky — 
Gold and purple richly set, 
Faintest rose and violet — 
While the stars gleam, one by one, 
In the silent depths alone, 
Waiting till the Lady Moon 
Dons her silver sandal-shoon, 
Slowly coming up the skies, 
With a lovelight in her eyes, 
And a blush of conscious bliss, 
From Endymion's parting kiss ; 
But anon, with quiet charm, 
Smiling on the Moorland Farm. 



MOORLAND FARM. 19 

When midnight her mantle close 
Draws around, and sweet repose 
Hushes all to dreamy rest — 
Little bird in downy nest, 
Little Maggie safe in bed, 
Mother's blessing o'er her said — 
When no sounds about us float, 
Save the cricket's pulsing note, 
Or the winds, amid the bowers, 
Bringing dew to thirsty flowers, 
Or the low and solemn roar 
Of the waves on lone sea-shore, — 
We, too, sink to slumber deep, 
While the angels vigils keep, 
To protect from hurt and harm, 
All we love at Moorland Farm. 



MINNIE. 

She left us in life's morn. 
Death closed the laughing lip, the soft blue eye, 
And hushed that voice's bird-like melody, 

Within the grave forlorn. 

Paler than lily fair, 
Her slight form faded from us, day by day; 
We almost looked to see it float away, 

Up into Heaven's air. 

Softly, God's angel came, 
And kissed our darling into painless rest ; 
And scarce we knew when, in the little breast, 

Went out life's feeble flame. 



MINNIE. 



21 



Yet first there played once more, 
About the rosy mouth, a tender smile, 
And murmuring, "kiss Minnie dear," the while, 

She slept, — and all was o'er. 



From off the tranquil bijow, 
We parted back the silky, golden hair, 
And folded the soft hands, with reverent care, 

Upon the bosom's snow. 



And in a grassy dell, 
Where sweetest flowers perfumed the silent air, 
Thick clustering round her quiet rest, and where 

The chime of waters fell ; 



And, through the summer day, 
The soothing whisper of the leaves was heard, 
Blending harmonious with the song of bird, 

We laid our child away. 



22 MINNIE. 

Yet oft, the longing eye 
Looketh for Minnie, in our lonely home, 
Listeneth the ear for little feet to come, 

As once, soft pattering by. 



Vainly. Within our bower, 
No more her voice shall wake us from repose, 
Or lisp its simple prayer, when flowerets close, 

At evening's holy hour. 



Patience, sad heart, and know 
The flower we love is blooming in the sky. 
Grod doth a little while our weak faith try ; 

Soon will he bid us go, 



And, in his home above, 
No longer feel the pains, the woes of earth, 
But, reunited with the lost, henceforth 

Abide beneath his love. 



F ANCIE S. 

I would be a cloudlet, 
Drifting o'er the blue, 

With its fleecy softness, 
And its changing hue ; 

When the morning shineth, 
. Full of golden rest, 

But when day declineth, 
In the glowing west, 

By the fading sunset kist 

Into tender amethyst. 

I would be a zephyr, 

Wandering at will, 
O'er the heathery moorland, 

Up the thymy hill ; 



24 FANCIES. 

Rustling through the green leaves, 
Rippling o'er the brook, 

Stealing rarest fragrance 
From each flowery nook, 

And, at noontide, sleeping well, 

In the lily's nodding bell. 

I would be a wavelet, 

On a summer sea, 
O'er its sunny surface, 

Gliding tranquilly ; 
Rocking the nautilus, 

Cradled in its pearl, 
Playing with the tresses 

Of some Naiad girl, 
Or, along the yellow strand, 
Seething up the shining sand. 

Nay, a bird I would be, 

That I quick might fly, 
On unerring pinions, 



FANCIES. 25 



Through the azure sky, 
To the vine-clad cottage, 

Where my Love doth stay, 
Nestling in her bosom, 

Singing all the day, — 
Or, beneath her soft caress, 
Mute for very happiness. 



THE DRYAD. 



My home is 'neath the leafy wood, 
Close hid in sylvan solitude ; 
And there, amid the shadows gray, 
I pass my tranquil life away. 



So dense the pine-tree's tasselled woof 
That forms my dwelling's fragrant roof, 
No arrowy rain or sunbeam fierce 
Its dusky shade can interpierce. 

The meaty nuts and berries rude 
Supply me with my simple food ; 
While, in the running streams, I find 
The nectar sweetest to my mind. 



THE DKYAD. 27 

Near by, a lakelet's placid face 
Reflects the heaven's changing grace ; 
And there, the lily holdeth up 
The snowy beauty of her cup ; 



The gentian opes its azure eye, 
Through silken fringes, languidly ; 
And, where the green wood leaneth o'er, 
Lobelia reddens all the shore. 



All night, soft, leafy murmurs creep, 
With lulling sounds about my sleep ; 
Or, half awake, I love to hear 
The ripples sigh around the mere. 



I live alone, though often come 
Rough satyrs to my woodland home. 
With wanton arts and rude grimace. 
Wooing me to their fierce embrace. 



28 THE DRYAD. 

Sometimes, bold Zephyr, all aglow, 
Cleaves suddenly the foliage thro', 
And, quivering on light wings, doth seek 
To press his lips against my cheek. 



E'en Pan himself, whene'er we meet, 
With words of love mine ear doth greet ; 
But swift, from their pursuit, I glide, 
In densest coverture to hide. 

n. 

But, yesternoon, from summer's heat, 
A youth approached my still retreat, 
And, weary with the sunbeams glare, 
Slept on the ferny pillow there. 

Never before, in wood or sky, 

Such beauty gleamed upon mine eye ; 
Fairer he seemed than aught of earth, 
Fairer than aught of heavenly birth. 



THE DRYAD. 29 



So did Adonis look, I ween, 
Unto the longing Cyprian Queen ; 
So shone Endymion, when he 
Charmed Dian to the Latmian lea. 



The very bees hummed near to sip 
The moisture from his rosy lip ; 
While, from o'erhanging boughs, there fell 
The glad, sweet song of Philomel. 

I crept anear, with timorous joy, 

To gaze upon the sleeping boy. 

! foolish heart, that could not tell 

'Twas Love's own self that wove the spell. 



I gazed, until I could not stay 
The tide that swept my soul away, 
And, leaning to his mouth, I quaffed 
My fill of passion's burning draught. 



30 THE DRYAD. 

Starting from slumber's feigned repose, 
With radiant light his eyes unclose ; 
A glance — a smile — then close he prest 
My yielding form unto his breast ; 



He kissed my lips, my brow, my hair, 
He called me all that's sweet and fair ; 
Ah ! me, his words more pleasing fell, 
Than the glad song of Philomel. 

No more alone, now Love hath come 
To share with me my forest home ; 
No more from his pursuit I glide, 
In densest coverture to hide. 



SONG. 

We parted, we who loved so well, 

When early morning glimmered gray, 
And, in the west, the moon's pale shell 

Faded before the coming day ; — 
We parted, when the autumn leaf 

Fell softly on the yellowing plain ; 
We parted, with the voiceless grief 

Of those who ne'er may meet again. 
! weary pain, 

Ne'er meet again! 

But, when beneath the sky of May 
The hawthorn blossomed far and near, 

There dawned for us a brighter day, 
And fate proved kinder than our fear ; 



32 SONG. 

For then, beneath the linden's shade, 

Once more I held thee to my heart, 
And there the whispered vows were made, 
That joined our lives no more to part. 
! happy heart, 

No more to part ! 



THE VASE. 

On my mantel's marble face. 
Stands a rare and slender vase, 
Of that soft, aerial blue, 
With the sunlight trembling through, 
Which the wanderer often sees, 
Bending o'er Italian leas. 

From afar, it came to me, 

Gift of gentle sisters three ; 

Sent my loneliness to cheer 

With sweet memories, ever clear, — 

Memories of happy hours, 

Loving smiles and fragrant flowers. 

Lizzie — with the raven hair, 
Dimpled fingers, white and fair, 
3 



34 THE VASE. 

Voice of music, breathing low, 
Like a streamlet's silver flow, 
And her proud and queenly grace. 
She 's the moss-rose of my vase. 

Lucy — sweet and angel-mild, 
Simple hearted as a child, 
Graceful as a slender fawn 
Gliding o'er some grassy lawn, 
With her pure Madonna face, — 
She 's the lily of my vase. 

Martha — -lovely as a dream, 
With her large eyes' violet-gleam, 
Wavy curls of golden hair, 
Rosy lips and bosom fair, 
And her timid, modest grace, — 
She 's the hearts-ease of my vase. 

Oft my fancy flies away, 
On its azure-beaming ray; 



THE VASE. 35 

To the home, beneath the shade 
By the sweeping chestnuts made,. 
And, with silent joy, I see, 
Yet again, those maidens three. 

Lizzie, o'er embroidery bent, 
Lu, on household cares intent, 
Martha, leaning o'er some book, 
While her sweet eyes' absent look 
Shows her heart, by night and day, 
Dreams of lover far away. 

And the lover dreameth too, 
Gazing on the vase of blue, 
Dreameth of the golden hour, 
When this pure and gentle flower 
Shall forever be a part 
Of his happy home and heart. 



They tell me, one I love hath sinned, 
Far wandering from the perfect way, 

And bid me from my heart to spurn 
His love and memory away. 

It may not be. I cannot break 
The tender ties of many years, 

Nor banish from the happy past 
Its memories of smiles and tears. 

I think on childhood's merry days, 
When all was sunshine and delight : 

I think on manhood's calmer hours, 
When shadows mingled with the light; 



THEY TELL ME, ETC. 37 

And ever, in his eye, I meet 

The glance of sympathy and love, 

And ever hear his friendly voice 
Ring true, all other tones above. 

And ever, through the vanished years, 
Doth memory o'er his virtues brood ; 

I only know to me he seems 

All that is kind and pure and good. 

Then, rather, with a deeper love, 

Let me forget the guilty stain, 
And strive to win the wanderer back 

To God and happiness again ; 

That I, when oft my heart, in vain, 

With dark temptation's power hath striven, 

May humbly plead, Lord, forgive, 
As I my brother have forgiven. 



MAY SONG. 

Birdling, near my casement singing, 

Swiftly speed th.ee on thy way ; 
Over wood and meadow winging, 
Message to my dear one bringing — 
To my loved one far away. 

Tell her that the spring, returning, 
Decks in beauty field and wold, 

Bush and tree to emerald turning, 

In the scarlet maple burning, 
Shining in the kingcup's gold ; 

That, with many a bud and flower, 
Snow-white gleams the hawthorn spray, 



MAY SONG. 39 

And the warm sun, hour by hour, 

Clothes anew the woodbine bower, 

In the tender robes of May ; 

How, when morning softly blushes, 

At my window sitting near, 
Hear I, from the alder bushes, 
Blackbirds' notes and songs of thrushes, 

Welcoming the opemng year ; 

While the amorous doves are cooing, 
Swallows darting, here and there, 

Dusky martins twittering, wooing, 

Swift their flying mates pursuing, 
Through the soft and humid air ; — 

Or, when evening falleth stilly, 

Star-beams silvering, far and near, 

Odors from the hidden lily, 

Eglantine and daffodilly 

Hover round me, and I hear, 



40 MAT SONG. 

From the drooping elm-tree, welling, 

Plaintive oriole's curfew song, 
Sad as Philomel's, when dwelling 
On her bitter woes, and telling 
All the air her cruel wrong ; 

Or, across the moorland stealing, 
Swelling high or humming low, 
Village bells' melodious pealing, 
Blent with murmurings, revealing 
Where the rivulet doth flow ; — 

Tell her this, but tell her clearly, 
That no joy they bring to me, 
And in vain spring cometh cheerly, 
While the one I love so dearly, 
Absent from my side must be ; 

That for her, from morn to even, 

Longs my heart with restless pain, 
Deeming all in earth and heaven, 



MAY SONG. 41 

Of their wonted grace bereaven, 
Till she smiles on them again ; 

Haste, and tell this to my sweeting, 

Over land and over sea, 
Then, on tireless pinions fleeting, 
Quick return and bring her greeting — 

True love's greeting back to me. 



ATA GRAVE . 

Beside thy quiet grave I rest, 

What time the lingering summer's day 
Goes purpling down the clouded west, 
And dies away ; 



While soft and cool the breezes creep 
Along the green and shadowy lea, 
Rustling amid the grasses deep 
That cover thee ; 



And, leaning here, thy sleep above, 

I speak thy dear name o'er and o'er, 
And bid thee, to my longing love, 
Respond once more. 



AT A GRAVE. 43 

But all in vain. My earnest call 

Thou nearest not, nor canst thou see 
How, while the night shades darker fall, 
I weep for thee. 



Yet wherefore mourn that thou no more 

Upon life's billowy sea dost roam, 
But, landed on the heavenly shore, 
Hast reached thy home ? 

Sleep on, I would not break thy rest, 
Or wish thee back to earth again ; 
Rather these tears, this aching breast, 
This bitter pain. 



'Twill soon be o'er. A few more days 

Shall fade in purple down the sky, 
A few more nights, with starry rays, 
Glide fleetly by, 



4*4 AT A GRAVE. 

And I anear thy side shall sleep, 

From pain released, from sorrow free ; 
And the long grasses, soft and deep, 
Shall cover me. 



MARY OF BETHANY. 

She sat within the lonely room, 
Where last in life her brother lay, 

Ere fell that dark and cheerless gloom, 
That shadowed all her weary way. 

Her eyes were dim with frequent tears, 
No gleam of light could Mary see, 

Till, like a voice from Heaven, she hears, 
" The Master comes, and calleth thee ! " 

Oh ! then a sweet and peaceful calm 
Stilled the deep anguish of her mind ; 

With eager steps, she sought the balm, 
Which there alone her soul could find. 



46 MARY OF BETHANY. 

And lowly, at the Saviour's feet, 

She knelt in trusting faith, and cried, 

In accents low and mournful-sweet, 

" Hadst thou been here he had not died ! " 

Her words the fount of memory stirred, 
And filled with tears his pitying eyes ; 

And soon, by Lazarus' grave, she heard 
The voice that bade her brother rise. 

Oh ! Mary, for thy trustful heart — 
Thus every grief on Christ to lay — 

Thine was indeed the better part, 
Nor life nor death could take away. 



LULLABY. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! Each little bird — 
Whose carol all the day we heard — 
Ere sunset *faded from the west, 
Folded its tiny wings to rest, 
And, 'mid the soft leaves cradled high, 
Rocks to the night wind's lullaby. 
Sleep, Alice, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! .Upon the green 
No more the tender lambs are seen, 
For, soon as glints the star of eve, 
Their frolic gambolling they leave, 
And, weary with incessant play, 
Safe sheltered, all in slumber lay. 
Sleep, Alice, sleep ! 



48 LULLABY. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! Each gentle flower 
Is sleeping in its leafy bower, 
Their petals pure the lilies close, 
In dewy fragrance sleeps the rose, 
And, in its verdant cincture set, 
Dreameth the blue-eyed violet. 
Sleep, Alice, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! The summer skies 
Bend o'er thee with their starry eyes, 
And, though unseen, God's angels keep 
Their watch of love around thy sleep. 
So, softly rest, till morn shall break, 
And bid thee with the. flowers awake. 
Sleep, Alice, sleep ! 



SONG. 

Tell me, dear, you love me still, 
And your voice shall sweeter seem, 

Than the music of a rill, 
Heard in pauses of a dream. 

Gaze upon me with thine eyes, 
All their meaning I would read, 

All the tender thoughts that rise, 
While with earnest tones I plead. 

Place your gentle hand in mine, 
Lean upon this faithful heart, 

Whisper only, " I am thine, 
Ever thine till life depart." 
4 



50 SONG. 

And forever, by my side, 

Home's dear angel thou shalt be, 

Swaying all my being's tide, 
As the moonlight sways the sea. 



WILLIE . 

" Mauibus date lilia plenis." 

To the gentle angel, Death, 
Yielding up his quiet breath, 
Softly now his eyelids close, 
In a peaceful, calm repose ; 
Pain and sorrow all are o'er, 
He will wake on earth no more. 

Yery still our darling lies, 
All the light gone from his eyes, 
With his hands together prest, 
Moveless on the moveless breast, 
And the cheeks so cold and white 
All the roses faded quite. 



52 WILLIE. 

Mother's love cannot beguile, 
From the little mouth, a smile, 
Though upon the lips she press 
All a mother's tenderness ; 
Ne'er again, his prattling voice 
Shall her loving heart rejoice. 

Bring the lily, snowy pale, 
Fragrant lily of the vale, 
Weave amid his soft brown hair, 
Every blossom frail and fair, 
For at life's fresh dawn of clay, 
Like a flower he passed away. 

Bear him to his quiet rest, 
On the green Earth's ample breast ; 
Circled by her loving arm, 
Nothing rude our babe can harm, 
Very sweet his sleep shall be, 
'Neath her gentle ministry. 



WILLIE. 5 

There her loving hands shall bring 
All the fragrant flowers of spring — 
Flocks of May-bloom, thickly set, 
Buttercup and violet, 
Violet like Willie's eyes, 
Azure-tinted with the skies. 

There, while golden sunlight falls, 
Birds shall sing sweet madrigals, 
Singing softly, singing low, 
To the little form below, 
Low as ring-dove's brooding cry, 
Soft as mother's lullaby. 

There our steps shall often stray, 
Through the balmy summer day, 
While we speak, with gentle tone, 
Of the dear child who is gone, 
Grateful that his soft feet stand 
Safely in the spirit-land. 



q 



54 WILLIE. 

And his memory we will keep, 
In our fond hearts treasured deep, 
Patient waiting for the day, 
When we too shall pass away, 
And, upon the heavenly shore, 
See our Willie's face once more. 



A MAY DREAM. 

Beyond the city's busy street, 
Aweary with its noise and care, 

We turned our horse's nimble feet, 
And breathed in nature's purer air. 



The fields with golden flowers were gay, 
Glistened the leaves with last night's rain, 

And, leaning o'er, the apple-spray 

Covered with bloom the fragrant lane. 



We lingered by the grassy marge 

Of silver Charles, and, down the tide, 

Watched how the white-sailed pleasure-barge, 
With graceful, swan-like course did glide. 



56 A MAY DREAM. 

Then on, till, by the lakelet's shore, 
We rested 'neath the pine-tree's shade ; 

Through leaves, the blue sky trembled o'er, 
And at our feet the ripples played. 



There, in the quiet of the spot, 
Lulled by the whispers of the pine, 

How soon the world was all forgot, 
The soul was calmed in dreams divine. 



A little hand was in my own, 
White as the lily's dewy leaves, 

I heard a voice of sweeter tone, 
Than nightingale's on moonlit eves. 



We spake of all our hearts held dear, 

Or mused upon them silently, 
Nor knew, till starlight glimmered near, 

How swift the winged hours sped them by ; 



A MAY DREAM. 57 

Till, o'er the bosom of the lake, 

The twilight gathered dusk and brown ; 

When, from our pleasant dream we wake, 
Once more within the busy town. 



But, still in fancy, oft I see 

The forest, by the lakelet's edge, 

The pine-tree's whisper floats to me, 
The ripples play among the sedge, 



The barge glides down the silver stream, 
The blossoms from the trees are blown, 

And evermore — it is no dream — 
The little hand within my own. 



MY MOTHER'S SONG. 

I pray thee sing it o'er again, 

And sing it soft and low ; 
It is the same sweet, holy strain, 

I loved so long ago, 
When in my mother's arms I lay, 
A little child at close of day. 

It brings, once more, the dear home place, 

Before my longing eye, 
The elms that o'er it interlace 

Their shady branchery, 
And the slim poplar, grown so high, 
I deemed it touched the very sky ; 



my mother's song. 59 



The currants, too, beside the fence, 
The giant gooseberries rare, 

And the great lilac-bush, from whence 
Such fragrance filled the air; 

The gravel walks, so trim and neat, 

The grape, that bowered the garden seat ; 

The apple-tree, whose blossoms swung 

My casement far above, 
The birds that built therein, and suno- 

Their matinals of love ; 
These, and a thousand memories more, 
Those half-forgotten tones restore. 

But most, what tender thoughts they bring. 

Of her, so angel-mild, 
Who thus, at twilight hour would sin«- 

To rest her weary child, 
And pray the Father kind to keep 
Unceasing watch around his sleep. 



60 my mothek's song. 

My mother ! many years have past, 
'Mid other scenes I rove, 

But long as life and memory last, 
I'll think of all thy love, — 

Thy patient love, thy tender cares, 

Thy gentle smile, thy earnest prayers. 

And oft, amid life's busy throng, 
Its endless whirl and roar, 

My wearied, care-worn heart will long 
For childhood's rest once more — 

The calm, sweet rest, beside thy knee. 

Listening the songs of infancy. 



B ON V O Y AGE. 



TO N. J. 



ship, that bearest o'er the sea, 
The friend entrusted to thy care, 

Speed on thy voyage prosperously, 
With favoring skies and breezes fair. 



Speed onward, with unerring keel, 
Leave far behind this frost and snow, 

Nor linger, till your white wings feel 
The tropic's sunlight on them glow. 

friend, fast fading from my view, 
Where blue sky mingles with the main, 

Our hopes, our prayers shall go with you. 
Till hand shall clasp with hand again. 



.BON VOYAGE. 

God's blessing tend thee, wheresoe'er, 
In far off climes, thy path may be ; 

His smile of love be ever near, 
To guide, sustain, and comfort thee. 

Whether in Florida you breathe 

The perfume from magnolia bowers, 

And see the jasmine's yellow wreath, 
Up climbing with its starry flowers, — 

Or, on Bermuda's sunny strand, 

Sweet fancies through your memory flow, 
Of Ariel on the yellow sand, 

Miranda and old Prospero ; 



Or in Yumori's palmy vale, 

Gazing entranced on earth and sky, 
And fanned by every balmy gale, 

You heed not how time speedeth by ; 



BON VOYAGE. 63 

While day on day, with radiance bright, 
Reveals new beauties to your eyes, 

And eve on eve, with lambent light, 
The Southern Constellations rise. 

But, when the spring-time brings again 
The May blooms and the tender leaves, 

When pansies show their purple stain, 
And martins twitter on the eaves ; 



Or when the warmer airs of June 
Unveil the rose's fragrant breast, 

And lilies glimmer 'neath the moon, 
In all their spotless beauty drest ; 



! then, return, thy wanderings o'er, 
Across the restless, heaving sea, 

And, with thy glad smile, bless once "more 
The home, the hearts that long for thee. 



SONG. 

When conieth Spring-time, like a maiden fair, 
With ! the harebell and the primrose pale, 

How balmy-sweet the blossom-scented air, 
How the glad birds sing down in the vale. 
! the bright Spring-time ! 

When cometh Summer-time, glowing with heat, 
With ! the lily and the red, red rose, 

How sweet to dream in some leafy retreat, 
Where the cool shadows lull to repose. 
! the warm Summer ! 

When cometh Autumn, purple with the vine, 
With ! the ripe fruit and the golden grain, 

See how the forest leaves gorgeously shine, 
How the harvest moon burns o'er, the plain. 
I the rich Autumn ! 



SONG. 65 

When cometh Winter, soft ermined with snow. 
With ! and alas ! the blossoms all dead, 

Swiftly, how swiftly, the merry bells go, 
While the keen starlight glitters o'erhead. 
! the cold Winter ! 



WHERE WILLIE LIES. 

When summer winds were wont to chase 
The light clouds o'er the azure skies, 

I loved to linger near the place, 
The cherished place, 

Where Willie lies. 

For then such glory crowned the spot, 

So beautiful it did appear, 
No fitter place could be, me thought, 

Could be, methought, 

For one so dear. 

Above, with closest intertwine, 

Spread out the tall and sheltering trees, 
Whose trembling leaves made music fine, 

Soft music fine, 

With every breeze. 



WHERE WILLIE LIES. (37 

And there a song-bird built her nest, 
Of slender twigs and moss and clay, 

And trilled from out her little breast, 
Her happy breast, 

The livelong day. 

And round the marble headstone grew 
Such gentle flowers as childhood knows ; 

What most he loved, the harebell blue, 
Meek harebell blue, 

And wilding rose, — 

With buttercups, a golden store, 

And 'mid the rank grass everywhere, 

Sweet honeysuckles, brimming o'er, 
All brimming o'er, 

With perfume rare. 

Here, hand in hand with memory, 
I lingered many a fleeting hour, 

Receiving blissful sympathy, 
Kind sympathy, 

From bird and flower. 



68 .WHERE WILLIE LIES. 

But now, when winter reigns around, 
And dun clouds cover all the skies, 

I know the chill snows wrap the mound, 
The little mound, 

Where Willie lies. 

And, trembling with a voiceless fear, 
Such bitter sorrow fills my mind, 

That all seems desolate and drear, 
Forlorn and drear, 

No hope I find. 

Till, calming all mj restless pain, 
Faith bids us look beyond the skies, 

And shows the babe we lost again, 
! sweet again, 

In paradise. 



THE LILAC FLOWEK. 

I could not sleep for thoughts of thee, 
Thy beauty turned my night to noon, 

And restless longings made me flee 

Out 'neath the smiling heavens of June. 



And soon, beside the lilac bush, 

Whose branches touch thy window, sweet, 
Through the calm midnight's breathless hush, 

Love piloted my willing feet. 



Soft fell the mellow moonlight there, 
Faint odors rose of garden flowers, 

And nought awoke the slumberous air, 
Save the low chimes of passing hours. 



70 THE LILAC FLOWER. 

I sang an old melodious strain, 

With which, in some long vanished year, 
A troubadour had soothed the pain 

Of absence from the one most dear. 



I only thought the tender plain, 
Upon the moonlight's silvery beams, 

Might float me to thy heart again, 
And mingle with thy gentle dreams. 

But quick, the lilac leaves above, 
There gleamed a fair and beauteous face, 

Dark eyes beamed down on me with love, 
A white hand waved with timorous grace. 

And sweeter than the murmurings 

Of rivulets, along the leas, 
And softer than the whisperings 

Of summer winds among the trees, 



THE LILAC FLOWER. 71 

Thy voice's melody I heard, 

And every sense with joy was thrilled, 
As when with sudden song of bird, 

The wood with ecstasy is filled. 

I clomb the lilac's twisted bough, 

And reached thy outstretched hand with mine, 
Then higher swung, and up, till now 

My burning lips were pressed to thine. 

A few fond words, a lingering kiss, 
One farewell glance into thine eyes, 

And so, by night, I find the bliss, 
Which cruel fate to day denies. 



CARL AND I. 

Leave off dreaming, Carl, I pray, 
All this golden, autumn day, 
I am weary, and would fain 
Breathe the mountain air again, 
Weary of this ceaseless toil, 
Eager strife and fierce turmoil ; 
Leave off dreaming, hour by hour, 
O'er that dry and scentless flower, 
Though a roselet once it lay 
On the breast of Adela, 
All that balmy eve of June, 
When, beneath the crescent moon, 
All your heart she did beguile, 
With her sweet and winsome smile. 
" Beautiful ? " You said just so 
Of Madalena, long ago, 



CARL AND I. 73 

Of her flowing, auburn hair, 
Of her proud and queenly air, 
And her grace beyond compare ; 
And, to-morrow, you may find 
Edith fitter to your mind. 
What care I, to hear all day 
Only dreams of Adela. 

Come with me to yonder hill, 
Where the grass is verdant still, 
And upon its lofty crown, 
On the soft moss sit thee down, 
Gazing through the silent air, 
On the varied landscape there. 
Par below, the city lies, 
Panoramic to our eyes, 
Spire and dome and cottage fair, 
Painted on the golden air ; 
All its noise is music here, 
Palling faintly on the ear ; 
Soft and low a distant bell 
Doth the passing hour tell ; 



74 CARL AND I. 

Like a shadow o'er the plain, 
Glideth on a steam-led train ; 
And, afar, Wachuset lies, 
Veiled in azure draperies, 
While around its top appear 
Snowy cloudlets, floating near, 
Snowy islets, floating free, 
O'er the heaven's boundless sea. 
But a sweeter sight, I ween, 
At our very feet is seen, 
"Where, beneath the chestnut-tree, 
Children gambol merrily ; 
Scarlet hood and yellow gown, 
Coming from the distant town, 
Glad, like us, once more to feel, 
Autumn airs around them steal ; 
Rosy cheeks and laughing eyes, 
Soft and pure as yonder skies, 
Childish voices, ever dear, 
Ringing musically clear, 
Childish hearts, unknowing sorrow, 



CARL AND I. 75 

Careless of the coming morrow. 
How the boys, a jovial rout, 
Shake the burry nuts about, 
Shouting loudest, overhead, 
When they fall on Katie's head, 
Katie, blushing rosy-red, 
Katie, with her golden hair 
Flying in the breezy air, 
And, with simple, guileless art, 
Stealing every boyish heart. 

But the sun hath gone to rest, 
In the crimson-curtained west, 
Evening shadows 'gin to fall, 
Dim and silent over all. 
Vanished now the merry rout, 
Hushed each wild, exultant shout, 
And the wood doth quiet he, 
Underneath the quiet sky. 
Where hath now the landscape fled, 
All its varied beauty dead ? 
Lonely, dreary, all doth seem, 



76 CARL AND I. 

But the picture of a dream. 
Now, above yon dusky grove, 
Gleams the silver star of love, 
Like a torch, to guide us down, 
Towards the twinkling lights of town. 
Till, once more, our glad feet come, 
Safely, to the welcome home, — 
I,, refreshed, to toil again, 
'Mid the busy haunts of men ; 
Carl, to dream and sigh away 
Half the night for Adela. 



PHENE. 

" Some isle 
With the sea's silence on it." 

When April's tender flowers again 
Enamelled all the verdant plain, 
We sailed across the ocean's foam, 
To seek afar some island home. 



Morn after morn, the breaking day 
Flooded the east with golden raj, 
And many a sunset's dying flush 
Stained all the wave with rosy blush. 

By day, we watched the heaving tide 
Come lapsing 'neath the vessel's side, 
Or saw the dusky porpoise play, 
In shoals, along the crystal way. 



78 PHENE. 

Sometimes, a wandering sea-bird threw 
Its mournful note across the blue ; 
Sometimes, the nautilus did float, 
Anear us, in its pearly boat. 



By night, from out the skies afar, 
Looked down each silver-trembling star, 
Or, smiling from the zenith high, 
The moon made golden all the sky. 



At last, one glowing day of June, 
When morn was melting into noon, 
We found a lone and fairy isle, 
Basking within the tropic's smile. 

How beautiful it slumbered there, 
Than poet's dream more passing fair, 
Fair as the Queen of Love, when she 
Arose from out the enamored sea. 



PHENE. 79 



Threaded by many a sparkling rill, 
Far upward towered a purple hill, 
Upon whose snowy mantled crown, 
Ever the soft clouds floated down. 



Upon its grassy slope, we made 
Our home, beneath the tamarind's shade, 
Where, through the green leaves, we might see 
The ocean moving ceaselessly, 

And hear the murmuring wavelets pour 
Their foamy crests along the shore, 
Low mingling with the tuneful wail 
Of silver-voiced nightingale. 

Over its walls, the clinging vine 
Crept up with taper fingers fine, 
And softly slept the ambrosial hours, 
Lulled by soft winds and fragrant flowers. 



80 PHENE. 

And here, amidst the eternal calm, 
Came gentle peace with healing balm, 
Till all our former griefs did seem 
But memories of a vanished dream. 



And Phene ripened, hour by hour, 
Into love's sweet and perfect flower, 
And, more and more, some added grace, 
Made beautiful her angel face. 



The hidden charms of nature stole, 
In wondrous beauty, to her soul, 
The music of the rippling sea 
Toned all her voice to melody. 

The purple of the mountain air 
Lingered amid her raven hair, 
The dewy lustre of her eye 
Was full of heavenly purity. 



PHBNE. 81 

And now, at last, I found complete 
The dreams of youth, so wild and sweet, 
The haven of a perfect rest, 
A home of love on Phene's breast. 



AUTUMN. 

The quiet of an autumn day, 

On hill and meadow-land, doth stay, 

And all the air is mild as May. 

The tranquil lake is gleaming bright, 
With a mellow, golden light, 
Like the moon of summer night, 

Glassing on its level floor, 
All along the fringed shore, 
Flags and alders, leaning o'er. 

How the forest's leafy aisle, 
All the senses doth beguile, 
With its rainbow-tinted smile ! 



AUTUMN. 83 

Where each tree with beauty glows, 
Orange into crimson flows, 
Purple melteth into rose ; 

As when o'er the evening sky, 
Gorgeous sunsets fade and die, 
Bright, resplendent to the eye ; 

Like the dolphin's dying hue, 
On the ocean's heaving blue, 
Ever changing, ever new. 

How silent all ! No little bird, 
With carol sweet, can now be heard, 
Singing till all the wood is stirred. 

No more, the busy humming-bee 
Frets through the blossoms, angrily, 
Or swings in heath-bells airily. 



8-1 AUTUMN. 

No more the pure and gentle flowers 
Make fragrant all the woodland bowers, 
As in summer's balmy hours. 

Only by the babbling rill, 
Purple aster bloometh still, 
Golden-rod beneath the hill. 



And these, too, will quickly die, 
With the fallen leaves, to lie, 
'Neath the chill snow's canopy. 

Autumn's glow shall fade away, 
Like the flush of dying day, 
Like the bloom before decay. 

What matter ? Love and hope remain, 
Spring returneth to the plain, 
Birds and flowers shall come again. 



JE SS AMINE. 

Yestreen, my little Nora came, 

And stood beside my knee, 
And offered, with her winning smile, 

A spray of flowers to me, — 

A spray of snowy Jessamine, 

In clusters starry-clear ; 
Why had they power mine eyes to fill, 

With many a blinding tear ? 

They minded me of other days, 

An evening soft and fair, 
And one who wore those gentle flowers. 

Amid her raven hair. 



86 JESSAMINE. 

The perfume of those faded blooms, 

Still lingers in my heart, 
The memory of those vanished hours 

Can never more depart. 

But Lily sleeps within the grave, 
The grass waves o'er her rest ; 

And therefore filled mine eyes with tears, 
And sorrow heaved my breast, 

When little Nora came, yestreen, 

And stood beside my knee, 
And offered, with her winning smile, 

Those clustered stars to me. 



BY THE RIVER. 

TO R. M. C. 

From mountain peak and village spire, 
The golden sunlight fades away, 

But up the clear sky, high and higher, 
With deepening radiance, doth ray 
The glory of the dying day, 

In streams of rosy-gleaming fire. 

Upon the river's marge I stand, 
And gaze across the shadowy blue, 

As, rippling up the shelving strand, 

The mimic waves their foam-bells strew, 
Slide softly back, then come anew, 

And murmur up the glistening sand. 



88 BY THE RIVER. 

How sweet to feel this dewy air 
Blow freshly o'er the unruffled tide ! 

So tenderly it lifts my hair, 

So wooes the modest flowers that hide 
Their little cups, anear my side, 

To greet me with their perfume rare. 

And sweet it is, at times, to hear 
The dip of oars, the lingering sweep, 

As some light boat its course doth steer 
Towards the far off billowy deep, 
So falls the measured chime they keep, 

With silvery cadence on the ear. 

And look ! above yon monarch pine, 
That sentinels the distant shore, 

Our chosen star doth brightly shine, 
And, all the charmed waters o'er, 
Her pure and lustrous light doth pour, 

Recalling thee and hopes divine. 



BY THE RIVER. 89 

I would thou wert beside me now, 
Beneath this gnarled beechen tree, 

To watch the river's placid flow, 

And hear the wavelet's gurgling glee, 
As on the lone shore, merrily, 

Unceasingly they come and go, — 

That I might gaze upon thy face, 
Drink gladness from thy loving eyes, 

And feel again the wondrous grace, 
That in thy every action lies ; 
Or speak and hear thy low replies, 

Or hold thee in my close embrace. 

Vain wish. But wheresoe'er to-night, 
Or far or near thy footsteps rove, 

When yon dear star shall meet thy sight, 
Oh ! may its welcome radiance move 
Thy gentle heart to dreams of love, 

And bring thee peace and calm delight. 



FROM AEMAND, 



WITH SOME VIOLETS. 

Alone, beneath Alhambra's towers, 
While evening creeps along the plain, 

I sit and muse o'er vanished hours, 
And sigh for home and thee again. 



Through dewy silence, rises yet 
The city's murmur, from afar ; 

The merry clink of castanet, 
The tinkling of the gay guitar. 

And nearer, from the olive's shade, 
Where home-lights twinkle to the eye. 

I hear the laugh by glad hearts made, 
The mother's evening lullaby. 



FROM ARMAND. 91 



But these do only serve to make 
This lonely heart more lonely still, 

And dear remembrances awake, 
My eyes, with saddest tears to fill. 



What though the night is beautiful, 
The soft airs faint with orange-flowers, 

And yonder round moon at her full, 

Gleams brightly o'er these cypress bowers ? 



The time, the place allure me not ; 

To other climes my quick thoughts roam. 
And linger round each hallowed spot, 

That looks upon my distant home. 

Along these fair romantic lands, 

A weary wanderer, I rove ; 
! for the clasp of friendly hands, 

The greeting from the lips I love. 



92 FROM ARM AND. 

But, blooming at my feet, I see 

Sweet violets trembling with the dew; 

The moonlight clear reveals to me, 
Their modest mien, their tender hue. 



And, gathering some, with gentlest care. 

I kiss their purple-tinted leaves ; 
Like loving words their odors are, 

Comfort and rest my soul receives. 



I send them to you, though I know, 
Withered and pale their bloom will be, 

Ere, to thine eager gaze, they show 
Their drooping eyes ; yet they, to thee. 



Will speak of him so far away, 

Whose tears fell on them like swift rain, 
With longing for the happy day, 

That gives thee to his sight again. 



She stands upon the lonely shore, 

At her feet the wild waves breaking ; 
And, amid their muffled roar, 
While the sea-mew waileth o'er, 
Thus her mournful plain awaking : 



" From thy sea-grave, rise and come, 
Once again to bless our home, 
With thy gentle voice beguile, 
Charm us with thy beaming smile. 

" Many days have come and gone, 
Since you left me, sad and lone, 
Sailing far across the sea, 
Bearing all my heart with thee. 



94 SHE STANDS UPON, ETC. 



" Still, with trembling pain, I hear, 
How, in vain, you strove to cheer, 
Strove, in vain, away to roll 
Dark forebodings of my soul. 

" Still I feel thy last caress, 
All its voiceless tenderness ; 
See thee smile upon my fears, 
Wipe away the falling tears. 

" Day to night and night to day 
All unnoted passed away, 
Summer fled across the main, 
Purple autumn flushed again ; 



" Winter, with its icy chill, 
Froze the meadow and the rill, 
But I recked not shine or rain, 
Waiting for my love in vain. 



SHE STANDS UPON, ETC. 95 

" Yet, with lingering hope, I thought, 
When another spring hath brought 
Singing birds from o'er the sea, 
He will then return to me. 



" Spring hath come, and leaf and flower, 
Deck the promised bridal bower ; 
Birds and blooms are with us now, 
Songs and sweets — but where art thou ? 



" Ah ! a vision haunts my sight, 
Of a form so cold and white, 
Idly floating, here and there, 
Sea-weeds tangled in its hair ! 



" Take me, too, and let me rest, 
Ocean, on thy mighty breast, 
From thy folding arms to borrow 
Dreamless sleep and end of sorrow.' 



96 SHE STANDS UPON, ETC. 



And the ever moaning main 
Echoes back her weary plain, 
Mingling with the sea-mew's cry, 
Mournfully, 



TO A. H. 

Along the garden paths I walk, 
And mind me of a summer's day, 

When you and I, in friendly talk, 
Beguiled the lingering noon away. 

And as the wild bee fondly sips 
The honey, from the rarest flowers, 

So drank I wisdom from thy lips, 
To hive it for these winter hours. 

'Twas here we stopped awhile, and breathed 
The perfume of the mignonette, 

And here your graceful fingers wreathed, 
Of azure bells, a coronet. 



98 TO A. H. 

And on this bush, now trailed to ground, 
Beneath the frequent-falling snows, 

Half hid in mossy veil, I found, 

And plucked for you, a blushing rose. 

And here, within this leafless bower, 
Then grateful for its umbrage deep, 

Lulled by the noontide's dreamy hour, 
There lay a fairy child asleep. 

And softly, lest she might awake, 

We placed the blue wreath on her hair, 

And thought the sweet flowers, for her sake, 
Seemed sweeter still, and still more fair. 



AGNES. 

Over the world, I wandered wide, 
Allured by Hope's deceptive beams, 

Over the ocean's heaving tide, 
Into the land of golden dreams. 

At last, my weary quest was o'er, 

The wealth, long sighed for, now was mine, 

And in my boyhood's home once more, 
I saw the lights of evening shine. 



I gazed upon the cottage door, 
Opening beneath the elm-tree high, 

The trailing woodbine running o'er, 
The tall syringa growing nigh. 



100 AGNES. 

But where was she whose smile of love 
Should first salute the wanderer's eyes — 

The star, whose radiance gleamed above 
The threatening clouds of distant skies ? 

Not for myself, had lingering years 
Of toil and loneliness been mine, 

But that the eyes, left dim with tears, 
Again with happiness might shine. 

In vain. We met on earth no more, 

Nor love nor gold from death could save ; 

I found, for all my glittering store, 
Only the wild rose on her grave. 



There in the midnight, starry-clear, 
I wildly called on Agnes' name, 

No answer broke the silence drear, 
No voice from out the darkness came. 



AGNES. 101 

Only the wailing breezes shook 

The dewy tears from out the flowers, 

Only afar some hidden brook 

Moaned faintly all the lingering hours. 



I slept, with weary pain o'erworn; 

Again to me in dreams she came, 
The Agnes of my life's young morn, 

In tender beauty still the same. 

Once more affection's holy light 
Irradiates her gentle eyes, 

Once more, upon my gloomy night, 
The vanished stars of love arise. 



She strove, as once, to soothe my pain, 
In pleading tones, so sweet and low, 

That my heart quivered back again 
To life, and all its nameless woe. 



102 AGNES. 

wasted years! In anguish deep, 
I curse the gold that could not save ; 

! that this breaking heart might sleep 
With Agnes, in her quiet grave. 



THE DESERT FOUNTAIN. 

Across the desert's burning heat, 
Through all the long and sultry day, 

We journeyed on, with weary feet, 
Along the lone and trackless way. 

But when still eve came down o'er all, 
And starry lights above were seen, 

Far off against the horizon's wall, 

Glimmered soft lines of waving green. 

And soon, beneath the stately palm, 
A fountain sparkled on our sight, 

Reflecting, from its surface calm, 

The mellow moonbeam's golden light. 



104 THE DESERT FOUNTAIN. 

! gladly did our wayworn feet 
Tread the rank grasses dewy-cold, 

And welcome rose the perfume sweet, 
From fragrant flowers manifold. 

And, softly as the falling dew, 
Did sleep its gentle balms distill, 

For though in desert wilds, we knew 
That God and heaven wore o'er us still 

And memory oft recalls that scene, — 
The tent beneath the orient sky, 

The stately palm-tree's waving green, 
The silver fountain, sparkling nigh ; 

And hears again the song of praise 
Swell upward, on the trembling breeze, 

To Him who guides, through starry ways, 
Arcturus and the Pleiades. 



ELE AN ORA. 

I. 

The south winds play a lulling tune, 
Among the maple leaves this noon, 
Come sweeping o'er the bending grass, 
Over the rippling waters pass, 
Swing the blithe wood-birds to and fro, 
Up in the elm-tree's pendant bough, 
Linger, amid the garden bowers, 
To catch the perfume from the flowers ; 
Then steal within the window-blind, 
The fairest flower of all to find, 
Bringing coolness from the brook, 
JBYagrance from each ferny nook, 
Odors of the violet, 



106 ELEANORA. 

Winged pea and mignonette, 
To breathe upon the sunny curl 
Of this, our sleeping baby girl. 

II. 

Quiet now her fingers lie, 
Fringed lids veil the soft blue eye, 
Snow-white heaves the bosom fair, 
Undisturbed by grief or care ; 
Fairy arm and fairy form, 
On the pillow, nestling warm, 
One foot showing, all aflush, 
Like the sea-shell's tender blush; 
So slight her breathing's rise and fall, 
So deep the silence over all, 
We whisper low and lightly tread, 
Round our Nora's cradle bed, 
Half listening with expectant fear, 
Lest white-winged angels hover near, 
Sent from heavenly realms above, 
For this idol of our love. 



ELEANORA. 107 

HI. 

How changed, since, through the village street, 

She tripped along with timid feet, 

Answering every song-bird's call, 

Robin, sparrow, linnet, all, 

With a voice like some clear bell, 

Ringing out in hidden dell ; 

Searching o'er each verdant plot, 

For the treasures summer brought — 

Dandelion's frequent gold, 

And the silver cups which hold 

Honey-dew, so tempting-sweet, 

To stay the hum-bird's restless feet, 

While her winning ways and smile, 

And her heart, so free from guile, 

Made her beauty seem to me 

Like a dream of poesy. 

IV. 

Memories of summer hours, 
Passed among the gentle flowers, 



108 ELEANORA. 

In her tiny form we trace, 

In her childish bloom and grace ; 

On her cheek, the blushing rose, 

Like soft tint of sunset shows ; 

On her bosom, snowy-pale, 

Linger lilies of the vale ; 

In her artless grace, we see 

Delicate anemone ; 

In her eyes, so full of thought, 

Gleams the blue forget-me-not ; 

And her fragrant breath doth tell 

Of the violet as well, 

Or the sweetness, rare and fine, 

Wafted from the eglantine. 

V. 

But the south wind brings again, 
From the leaves a soft refrain, 
Lifts her hair and stoops to press, 
On her lips, a fond caress. 
Look, how beautiful, the while, 



ELEANORA. 109 

Dimples out a sudden smile ! 
Now we know that angel eyes 
Watch unseen where Nora lies. 
May their loving spirits shed 
Holiest influence on her head, 
Gently as, in gloaming hour, 
Dews impearl the woodland flower; 
And, as in the dew-drop's sheen, 
Clear and pure the heavens are seen, 
May her heart forever be 
Shrine of truth and purity. 



MARIA. 

I. 

She sleeps beneath a southern sky, 
From home and friends far, far away, 

And we are left to mourn and sigh 
For the lost sunlight of our day. 

It seems but yesterday she left us, 
The love-light glowing in her eye, 

With him whose winning voice bereft us 
Of all our fond hearts prized so high. 

The rose bloomed softly in her face, 
Dark waved the masses of her hair, 

And sweeter seemed each nameless grace 
And sweet her smile beyond compare. 



MARIA. Ill 

Still rings the voice within our ears, 
That trembled o'er its last farewell, 

Still we recall the loving tears, 

That from those drooping eyelids fell. 

II. 

One little year, and all is over ! 

Death ! so pitiless to prove ! 
The cold and dreary sods now cover 

The dearest object of our love. 

Thank God, the memories of home 

Brought joy and comfort to her breast, 

Though there she ne'er again might come, 
Upon the mother's heart to rest ; 

Nor see, above the cottage eaves, 
The elm-boughs swaying to the wind, 

Nor hear beneath their trembling leaves, 
Loved voices ever true and kind. 



112 MARIA. 

Thank God, that to her dying bed, 
His own exceeding peace was given, 

Bright angels hovered o'er her head, 
And bore the passing soul to heaven. 

III. 

She sleeps beneath a southern sky, 
From home and friends far, far away, 

And we are left to mourn and sigh 
For the lost sunlight of our day. 

The summer winds shall lure again, 

From hidden nooks, each slumbering flower. 

And, jubilant, o'er hill and plain, 

The wild birds sing from bower to bower. 

But nevermore can summer wake 
The gladness of the time that's fled, 

Or from our darkened spirits take 
The grief, the longing for the dead. 



MARIA. 113 

But oft remembrance of her worth, 
Within our chastened hearts shall rise, 

Till we too slumber in the earth, 
To wake with her in Paradise. 



GOOD NIGHT. 

Under the lindens, to and fro, 
I wander jet, nor care to go, 
Recalling, while the path I trace, 
Thy parting smile's bewitching grace, 
And the rare beauty of thy face, 

As, lingering at the open door, 

"Good night" you murmured, o'er and o'er. 

And still, unto my lips, is prest 

The rose that lay upon thy breast, 

Ah! happy rose, by thee so blest. 

Around me, in the blissful calm, 

The night-winds blow and scatter balm, 



GOOD NIGHT. 115 

Deep freighted with the fragrance fine, 
Of fern leaves and the mountain pine, 
Sweet May-buds and the blossoming vine. 

Over the surface of the lake, 
No swallow skims, no ripples break, 
Nor sounds of dipping oars arise ; 
But, like a mirror clear it lies, 
Reflecting back the moonlit skies. 

Unbroken is the hush o'er all, 
Save by the tinkling waterfall, 
Down dropping from the heights above ; 
Or when, in yonder leafy grove, 
Some happy bird trills out its love. 



But hark! I hear the midnight hour, 
Slow booming from the old church tower; 
And see ! th' impatient moon hath gone 
In haste to meet Endymion, 
And all is dark and drear and lone. 



116 GOOD NIGHT, 

Good night, dear heart. By sleep carest, 
May sweet dreams hover o'er thy rest, 
Soft be thy slumbers, soft and deep, 
Till morn shall through thy -window peep ; 
God have thee in his holy keep ! 



OLIYET. 

Along the mountain's rocky brow, 
The Saviour slowly passed, and now, 
Bathed in the sunlight's golden ray, 
Jerusalem before him lay. 

Each palace proud, each lofty palm, 
Is pictured on the breathless calm, 
And, gleaming on the wavering sight, 
Lo ! the great temple's splendor bright. 

About their Lord, his followers stood, 
O'ershaded by the olive wood, 
And, to their proud, exultant cries, 
He turned with sad and mournful eyes. 



118 OLIVET. 

Not for himself did Jesus mourn, 
The cruel cross, the bloodv thorn, 
But, that the chosen race should prove 
Ungrateful to his tender love. 

And, far beyond the present hour, 
He saw the clouds of ruin lower, 
Saw the fierce Roman's mailed hand 
Smite in its wrath the holy land. 

He saw, in every alien clime, 
The Hebrew cursed through coming time, 
Heard the loud laugh, the mocking jeer, 
The Gentile's scoff, the Gentile's sneer. 

He turned away, his yearning heart 
In all their sorrows bore a part, 
His pitying eyes with tears are wet, 
He bows in grief on Olivet. 



THE HERMIT AGE. 
TO L. W. B. 

One April morn, -when coming day 
First flushed the east with rosy ray, 
Or ere, from out his ocean bed, 
The sun his fiery steeds had led, 
We sought the wild-wood's verdant shade, 
Where meeting boughs an arbor made, 
Above a fountain pure and deep, 
Reposing in unrippled sleep. 

Words cannot tell how softly fair 
Gleamed on our sight the vision there, 
So calm, so still, we hold our breath, 
Lest Undine waking from beneath, 
Or fearful, lest at sudden turn, 



120 THE HERMITAGE. 

Chaste Dian's eyes against us burn, 
Where, tended by each blushing nymph, 
She batheth in the cooling lymph. 

Upon the sloping marge appear 
The fairest flowerets of the year, 
Pure sanguinaria, snowy-white, 
Anemone, so frail and slight, 
Hepatica's mild azure eye, 
Uplooking ever timidly, 
And violets, whose breathings rare 
Make fragrant all the woodland air. 

With lulling cadence, ever near, 
The tones of nature charm the ear ; 
The pine-tree whispers, soft and low, 
To all the vagrant winds that blow, 
From sweet to sweet, the wild bee hums, 
With tiny chirp the sparrow comes, 
And, tilting light on yonder spray, 
The linnet sings his joyous lay. 



THE HERMITAGE. 121 

And list, that clear and liquid peal, 
Where, far away, yon brook doth steal, 
Babbling for very joy to see 
The sunlight falling goldenly ; 
Now eddying round, in careless play, 
Some little rock that checks its way, 
Then tripping on, with silver feet, 
Across the meadow swift and fleet. 

sylvan scene ! what perfect rest 
Thou yieldest to the weary breast! 
How fade the cares of life away, 
While thus in Nature's arms we lay ! 
The influence of place and hour 
Shapes every thought with silent power, 
Till our rapt souls, unconscious, raise 
Mute orisons of prayer and praise. 

What legend haunts this hidden dell, 
And whence its name ? Can no one tell ? 
Perhaps within the ages gone, 



122 THE HERMITAGE. 

Some hermit lived here, sad and lone, 
Some wretch aweary of his kind, 
Who hoped in this retreat to find 
Exemption from life's thankless toil, 
Its grief, its pain, its mad turmoil. 

Ah! no, far rather let us say, — 
Some poet wandered here one day, 
Or ere, from out his ocean bed, 
The sun his fiery steeds had led, 
And, thrilled by influences, born 
Of springtime and the dewy morn, 
Found, in this calm, secluded spot, 
A hermitage for holy thought. 



MY WALTER. 

I. 

From mocking dreams, I wake and hear 
The storm winds on my window beat, 

The creaking of the lindens near, 
The rushing of the angry sleet. 

And, over all, though far away, 
The ocean's loud tumultuous roar, 

As, wild with foam and driving spray, 
The great waves dash upon the shore. 

And boding fears arise for one 
Now sailing on the faithless sea, 

Lest wrecked upon some islet lone, 
He never may come back to me. 



124 MY WALTER. 

II. 

But little knows our slumbering child, 
Whose breathing soft I scarce can hear, 

Of darkness and the tempest wild, 
Of sad unrest and anxious fear. 

Tranquil as young bird in its nest, 

When moonbeams through the lindens shine. 

She lays her dear head on my breast, 
And folds her dimpled hands in mine. 

! let such faith my spirit fill, 
To trust in God and feel that He 

Can bid the raging waves be still, 
And bring my dear one back to me. 

III. 

Look out glad eyes ! The rosy light 
Foretells the calm and beauteous clay, 

Med are the terrors of the night, 
The wintry storm hath died away. 



MY WALTER. 125 

Their jewelled arms the lindens wave, 

And flash on Ella's dazzled e'en, 
Like glimpse of Ali Baba's cave, 

Or palace walls of Alla'd Deen. 

And in the harbor safely rides, 

From threatening waves and tempests free, 
The ship, that o'er the ocean tides, 

Hath brought my dear one back to me. 



AUTUMNAL. 

Where are the bright-eyed flowers. 
That through the summer hours, 
Filled all the garden bowers, 
With perfume and delight ? 
In silence deep, 
They softly sleep, 
'Neath autumn's waning light. 



Where are the wild-birds singula; 
Who late around us winging, 
Set all the woodlands ringing, 
With melody and song? 
In far-off climes, 
Their music chimes, 
The tropic groves among. 



AUTUMNAL. 127 



Where are the loving voices, 
The myriad pleasant noises, 
In which the heart rejoices, 
When life is in its prime ? 
Ah ! well-a-day ! 
Vanished away, 
Silenced by ruthless Time. 



Where are the eyes, mild beaming, 
The fair cheeks, roseate gleaming, 
The lips with kisses teeming, 
That on our boyhood shone ? 
Withered and dead, 
Their beauty fled, 
Almost their memory gone. 



I know that Time will fling us 
Spring's flowery wreaths, and bring us 
The summer birds, to sing us 



128 AUTUMNAL. 

Their melodies once more ; 
But can he bring 
Youth's faded spring, 

Or love's fond dreams restore ? 



THE RISING MOON. 

I'm thinking, dearest, of that night, 

That golden night of June, 
When, 'mid the sunset's waning light, 

We watched the rising moon ; 
And, sitting where the maple leaves 

Hung tremulous above, 
We dreamed such dreams as fancy weaves, 

Of moonlight and young love. 

We dreamed — but each in silence kept 

The secret of the heart, 
For still wild passion calmly slept, 

Or dimly burned apart; 
9 



130 THE RISING MOON. 

Enough for me, if I might come 

And gaze upon thy face, 
And there, within thy childhood's home, 

Behold each winning grace. 

The west winds brought upon their wings, 

The scents of myriad flowers, 
Sweet tokens of their wanderings 

Amid the garden bowers ; 
They breathed of lily's rich perfume, 

Of roses dewy-wet, 
Of honeysuckle's spicy bloom, 

Balm leaves and mignonette. 



I wreathed a careless intertwine 
Of stems and blossoms rare, 

Moss-buds and fragrant eglantine, 
To deck your flowing hair ; 

And, sitting at your feet, enthrilled 
Beneath those earnest eyes, 



THE RISING MOON. 131 

Dim longings all my being filled, 
With blissful ecstacies. 

And far above the forest shade, 

The moon arose the while, 
Illumining each dusky glade, 

Each cool and slumb'rous aisle. 
Down, through the maple leaves, her beams 

With clearest light did reach, 
And still we dreamed those pleasant dreams, 

Unconscious each to each. 

When suddenly from off the sea, 

Soft music 'gan to float, 
Flute preludes rising tremblingly, 

With gently waving note ; 
And then a voice of wondrous power 

Sang, to the tranced air, 
A hymn befitting evening hour — 

Some Ave's yearning prayer. 



132 THE RISING MOON. 

'Twas sweet, as when in Tempe's vale, 

At twilight's purple hush, 
With warbling trills, the nightingale 

Sings from the myrtle bush; 
So tender moans the plaining dove, 

So clearly pipes the thrush, 
And thus, when spring-time breathes of love, 

The black-bird's mellow gush. 

Fond memory paints the glad surprise, 

The sudden-flowing tears, 
The mutual glance of loving eyes, 

The loss of doubts and fears ; 
And ever dear will be that night, 

That golden night of June, 
When, 'mid the sunset's waning light, 

We watched the rising moon. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

The hush of evening, soft and still, 
Enwraps the frosty landscape round, 

All silent now each frozen rill, 

And mute the cricket's shrilly sound. 

I see the constellations glide 

Along the window's glistening pane, 

Orion with his star-girt side, 

Ascending first the heavenly plain. 

And, ere his starry sword is lost 
Behind yon sparkling roof of snow, 

Bright Sirius and a countless host 
Their gleaming rays of silver show. 



134 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

I seem to hear sweet melodies, 



Like those which once through heaven rang, 
When all along the echoing skies, 
The morning stars together sang. 



'Tis but a dream. ISTo starry hymn, 
With silvery cadence, thrills my ear, 

Only the breeze, in twilight dim, 

Plays on the tasselled pine boughs near. 



But hark ! Now, clearer than before, 
I hear the bells of Christmas chime, 

The joyous peals that tell, once more, 
The dawning of the holy time. 



! welcome sounds, and sweet as those 
The awed and wondering shepherds heard. 

When, on Judea's hills, arose 

The song that all the world hath stirred. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 135 

Peal on, glad bells, forever peal, 

Till error's darksome reign shall cease, 

And a redeemed earth shall kneel, 
In homage, to the Prince of Peace. 



WHITHER? 

The crescent moon adown the sky, 

With clear and silvery light doth float, 

As o'er the water, silently, 

Glides on our swift and winged boat. 

Soon fades the city far behind, 
Its stifling heat, its deafening roar, 

And here our weary senses find 
Soft stillness and repose once more. 

By fairy isles, whose woods o'erreach 
The river, with their fringing spray, 

By jutting rock and pebbly beach, 
We speed along our tranquil way. 



WHITHER ? 137 

How cool upon my throbbing brow, 

The night winds blow from off the sea ! 

How gently, round the cleaving prow, 
The ripples murmur lingeringly ! 

And Lillian leans upon my breast, 

Upgazing with, her dreamy eyes, 
To where, along the glowing west, 

The sinking moon illumes the skies ; 

And softly sings some plaintive lay, 
Some ballad's quaint melodious rhyme, 

While wind and wave their murmurs stay, 
To hear the music's lulling chime. 



So glide we on, till flames anear 

The light-house on the sea-sands lone, 

And near and nearer still we hear, 
The billows heave with sullen moan. 



138 WHITHER ? 

And now the moon hath sunk to sleep, 
Far, far adown the darkening sky, 

But Hesper still bright watch doth keep, 
Still gleams her silver torch on high. 



Love, we will not seek again 
The weary life we left behind, 

But, sailing out into the main, 

Speed onward with this favoring wind ; 



And ever on — till morning wakes 
Upon some fair though alien shore, 

Where no fond heart with sorrow breaks, 
But all is peace forevermore. 



LILLIAN. 

Once more the maiden Spring, with noiseless feet, 

Climbs the steep hill and dances o'er the plain ; 
And nature wakes, beneath her influence sweet, 

To new-born life and loveliness again. 
We trace her progress, in the budding flowers, 

We hear her music, in the song-birds glee ; 
Her fragrant breath perfumes the woodland bowers, 

Her tresses wave from every leafy tree. 

Freed from the icy clasp of winter's hand, 
Swiftly the brooklet speedeth on its way, 

With tuneful voice, across the meadow-land, 
Singing for aye its glad contented lay. 

Softer and softer o'er us, day by day, 

The south winds blow and tell of summer hours, 



140 LILLIAN. 

Of waving cornfields and the tedded hay, 
Of golden fruit and autumn's purple bowers. 

Oft as the rosy morn ascends the sky, 

The opening flowers their odorous incense bring, 
And loud, in field and forest, far and nigh, 

The little birds their grateful anthems sing ; 
The placid river sparkleth in its glow, 

The dew-drops glisten in its radiant fight, 
All things with joy and happiness o'erflow, — 

Why doth my soul no longer feel delight? 

The fairest blossom from fife's tree hath gone, 

And left its branches desolate and bare ; 
Vanished the fight that on my pathway shone, 

And fled the voice that lulled my every care. 
In the cold grave, the heart I loved, no more 

Can throb for throb responsive beat to mine ; 
What wonder then, when love's bright dreams are 
o'er, 

Though nature smiles, with sorrow I repine ? 



LILLIAN. 141 

Only when day is past, and gentle night 

Keeps holy vigil o'er the slumbering earth, 
When walks the moon above, with friendly light, 

And one by one the silent stars beam forth ; 
In that calm hour of peace and love, again 

I feel her presence, like an angel's wing, 
Shed its mild influence on my sad heart's pain, 

Soothe its wild grief and hush its murmuring. 



SNOWFLAKE S. 

Like softest down, the snowflakes fall, 
On vale and upland, far and near, 

And weave with noiseless speed, a pall 
To lay upon the dying year. 

How fast the old familiar look 
Of all the scene, is blotted out ; 

Not even doth the meadow brook 
Give token of its whereabout. 

The meadow brook, that, night and day, 
When summer winds slept on the lea, 

Ran sparkling on its joyous way, 
Round rock and moss-bank merrily. 



SNOWFLAKES. 143 

They bend the cedar's massy stems 
Adown, beneath their heavy weight, 

Or make light graceful diadems, 
On privet hedge and garden gate. 

And, in the oriole's rounded nest, 

That swingeth from the elm-tree's bough, 

On feathery wings, they light and rest, 
For ah ! they find it vacant now ! 

And still I watch their quiet fall, 
On vale and upland, far and near, 

Till, blent with shadowy twilight, all 
In night and darkness disappear. 



TRANSLATIONS 



FROM 



THE GERMAN 



HEBEL. 



10 



TRANSLATIONS. 



THE LITTLE WITCH. 

As on my carving-bench, one day, 
Whittling, I whiled the time away — 
As oft I do in lazy mood — 
A damsel gay before me stood. 

" Good day," her kindly greeting fell ; 
Then asks she, " Does your knife cut well ? " 
" Thank you, so, so," I answered quick, 
And sudden felt at heart quite sick. 



148 THE LITTLE WITCH. 

Up started I, the witch to find,, 
But off she goes as swift as wind ; 
In vain I cry, " Come back again," 
Never an answer would she deign. 



Since then, no appetite I've got, 
Bring what you will it matters not ; 
Night-long, when all the world's asleep, 
Wakeful, I hear the slow hours creep. 

Nothing succeeds, try what I will, 
Home or abroad, my mind doth still 
After that winsome syren go, 
And stupid's all I say or do. 

It's true, she is so wondrous fair, 

An angel e'en would at her stare ; 

How loving sweet her accents fell, 

When saying, " Does your knife cut well ? " 



THE LITTLE WITCH. 149 

That only time did she come here; 
Never again did she appear, 
Since off she fled, o'er stock and stone, 
Through hedge and copse unwearied on. 



Who '11 find for me the girl ? I pray, 
Who to her dwelling show the way ? 
I run and search, with might and main, 
Hoping to meet her yet again. 



In all the villages about, 
At every door, I seek her out, 
For till once more the witch I see. 
I ne'er can well or happy be. 



THE HAPPY WIFE. 

God keep my own dear Fred ! 
Has any wife a better man ? 
Let her prove it if she can ; 
Anear my side he loves to be, 
And liketh best what pleaseth me ; 
And aught that he may say or do 
Seems always right and proper too. 
And then, so manly is his air, 
So black and curly is his hair, 
His ruddy cheeks, so healthy glowing, 
And such strength his stout limbs showing ! 
If e'er I suffer sorrow's smart, 
Or trouble gnaweth at my heart, 



THE HAPPY WIFE. 151 

Then think I of my husband dear, 
And straightway all is bright and clear. 
God keep my own dear Fred ! 

God keep my little farm ! 
Behind the house my garden lies, 
Which all our frugal wants supplies; 
In the rich field the barley grows, 
On the warm hill the vineyard shows, 
And though my farm-yard small may be, 
There sheep and hens and geese you see. 
What need I more ? Name what you will, 
Be sure that here I find it still. 
When most I fear lest want may be, 
The good God always helpeth me. 
And when my Fred from work doth come, 
Weary and hungry to his home, 
There stands, upon the table neat, 
A bowl of buttermilk so sweet, 
And wine too, in the old green jug, 
With which I haste to fill his mug; 



152 THE HAPPY WIFE. 

And glad he drinks, it tastes so good, 
. So nerves his heart, so warms his blood. 
God keep my little farm ! 

God keep my little room ! 
It is so blissful and serene, 
As though by angels built, I ween, 
As it a little church might be ! 
Nowhere a vacant place you see. 
When sharply gleams the lightning near, 
And when the pouring rain you hear; 
Or when with mist and driving sleet, 
The snow-winds on the window beat ; 
When, Christmas gone, adown the hill, 
Comes January, clear and chill, 
And to the trees with cold clasp clings, 
And o'er the stream the ice-bridge springs,- 
Or when the storm the great oak shakes, 
And through its branches roars and breaks, 
Warm is my little room, and still, 
Bustle the tempest as it will. 

God keep my little room ! 



THE HAPPY WIFE. 153 

But oh! should God call Fred away, 
And he no longer with me stay, 
The churchyard then my farm would be. 
And there my room built speedily ; 
God keep my own dear Fred for me ! 



THE CHERRY-TREE. 

To Spring, the good God spake, and said, 
"Go, for the worm a table spread ; " — 
And soon the cherry-tree is seen, 
Covered with leaflets fresh and green. 

Within his shell the worm awakes, 
And quick his winter-house forsakes, 
Stretches himself, and yawns, and tries 
To open wide his sleepy eyes. 

And thereupon, without a pause, 
Upon the nearest leaf he gnaws, 
And says, " 'Tis hard to get away, 
So tender are the leaves to-day." 



THE CHERRY-TREE. 155 

And yet again, the good God said, 
" Now for the bees a table spread ; " — 
At once the cherry-tree is dight, 
With myriad blossoms pure and white. 



A little bee the banquet spies, 
At early morn, and thither flies, 
Thinking, " I now my thirst can slake, 
And here my fragrant coffee take, 

Out of these cups, so clean and nice ; " 
Then puts his tongue in, in a trice, 
And sips, and says, " How very sweet ! 
Plenty of sugar here, I weet." 

To Summer next, the good God said, 
" Go, for the birds, a table spread ; " — 
And now, the cherry-tree doth glow, 
With ruddy fruit — a tempting show. 



156 THE CHERRY-TREE. 

A sparrow lights upon a bough, 

And says, " I '11 eat my fill here now ; 

'Twill make me vigorous of wing, 

And give me strength of voice to sing." 

Then to the Autumn, God did say, 
" They've had enough, clear all away ; "- 
And chilling winds the branches tost, 
And fell the sharp and bitter frost. 



The leaves were changed to gold and red. 
Then fluttered downward, withered, dead, - 
Till stript of all its foliage fair, 
The cherry-tree stood lone and bare. 



To Winter, then the good God said, 
" O'er what is left, a covering spread ; " 
Softly and fast the snowflakes fall, 
And quiet settles over all. 



THE EVEE CONTENTED SMOKER 

SPRING. 

Blooming trees, and bubbling springs ! 
Bless me, how that wild-bird sings ! 
Feels the heart in happy mood, 
And my pipe, oh ! that tastes good. 

SUMMER. 

Full of ears the cornfields stand, 
Apples tempt on every hand, 
While o'er all the heat doth brood, 
And my pipe, oh ! that tastes good. 

AUTUMN. 

Can the world yet better grow ? 

Here are grapes, the wine's clear glow, 

Cooler airs and livelier blood, 

And my pipe, oh ! that tastes good. 



158 THE EVER CONTENTED SMOKER. 

WINTER. 

Winter-time, how fair it shows ! 
On the mountain-top it snows, 
On the roof, and on my hat ; 
Tastes my pipe good for all that. 



THE WATCHMAN'S CRY. 

Listen ! while the hour I tell ; 

Ten — just struck the clanging bell. 

Say your prayers, then fall asleep, 
Conscience pure gives slumber deep ; 
Safely rest, God's holy eye 
Ever watcheth from the sky. 

Listen! while the hour I tell; 

Eleven — struck the clanging bell. 
Whosoe'er at work yet stays, 
Whosoe'er at cards yet plays, 
Eor the last time hear my call, 
Hour for rest hath come to all. 



160 THE WATCHMAN'S CRY. 

Listen ! while the hour I tell ; 

Twelve — just struck the clanging bell. 
If that any watch and weep, 
Wakeful kept bj anguish deep, 
May the Father comfort send, 
And their grief in slumber end. 

Listen ! while the hour I tell ; 

One — just struck the clanging bell. 
If by Satan led astray, 
Lurks a thief in some dark way, 
Homeward let his swift steps fly, 
Seeth him the Judge on high. 

Listen ! while the hour I tell ; 

Two — just struck the clanging bell. 
If thus early any start, 
Feeling care gnaw at the heart, — 
Foolish ones, why trouble borrow, 
God will care for your to-morrow. 



THE WATCHMAN'S CRY. 1(51 

Listen ! while the hour I tell ; 
Three — just struck the clanging bell. 

Morning light begins to break, — 

Ye who now in joy awake, 

Show to God your gratitude, 

Go to work, and keep you good, 



11 



WINTER. 

Who has a cotton sale on high ? 

Long hath it fallen silently, 

On field and dwelling, far and nigh, 

And still it falls incessantly ; 

And, looking up, I see quite plain 

Great sacks full yet in heaven remain. 

Here 's one who from afar hath come, 
And surely he has purchased some, 
'Tis on his shoulders, and his bonnet 
Is heavy with the load upon it. 
Halloo ! my friend, just wait a bit, 
Don't run as if you 'd stolen it. 



WINTER. 163 

In all the gardens, far and near, 
Each post a cap of snow doth wear, — 
Like mighty lords they stand arow, 
And think they make a wond'rous show ; 
The nut-tree dons its cap also, 
The castle and the minster too. 

Snow upon snow, till, all around, 
No street, no footpath can be found ; 
Yet safe the tender seed, we know, 
Lies buried in the earth below, 
And, snow as long as snow it may, 
Waits patiently its Easter-day. 

And many a moth of brilliant hue, 

Within the earth is hiding too, 

Unknowing aught of care or pain, 

Till Easter dawns for it again ; 

Though lingering long, yet comes the day, — 

Meanwhile, it sleeps the time away. 



164 WINTER. 

Then, when the swallows blithely sing, 
And the earth feels the sun of spring, 
No longer there content to stay, 
It throws its grave-clothes all away, 
Emerges from its dungeon's night, 
And soars aloft to air and light. 

See yonder sparrow flying near, 
Hoping to find some fragments here, 
And looking up so piteously, 
As though to ask a crumb of thee ; 
Poor bird! far other must it seem, 
Than when with corn the furrows teem. 

There, take, and spare the others some, 
And oft as hungry, hither come ; 
Still true the words of Scripture keep, 
" They sow not, neither do they reap ; 
Nor gather into barns, yet they 
Are by the Father fed alway." 



AGATHA AT THE BIER OF HER 
GODFATHER. 

Come, Agatha, draw softly near; 
I know your thoughts, but do not fear; 
Come, gaze the well-known features o'er, 
All 's well with him, so weep no more. 



How calm and good doth he appear ! 
As he each word we say could hear; 
Ah ! Jesu, see ! a smile doth play, 
As if the lips would somewhat say. 

A heavy sickness laid him low, 

He seems to say, " Nought ails me now 

Death did my fondest wish fulfil, 

My restless fever now is still." 



166 AGATHA AT THE BIER OF HER GODFATHER. 

Afflictions sore were oft his lot. 



'•> 



But now he says, " These vex me not ; 
Let happen aught on earth that will, 
Under the churchyard all is still." 

How quarrelsome his neighbor w^as ! 
No memory of this he has, 
But says, " God's mercy may he see, 
And his a quiet deathbed be." 



Himself did imperfections mar, 
But these in death forgotten are ; 
He says, " From these I now am free. 
As my heart ever wished to be." 



He sleeps, and looks at thee no more ; 
How once he smiled his Godchild o'er ! 
He says, " God willing, may it be 
That we in heaven each other see." 



AGATHA AT THE BIER OF HER GODFATHER. 167 

Go, Agatha, and think on this ; 

An honest man was he, I wis ; 

Go, dear, from sin and evil keep, 

Till thou, too, thus in death shalt sleep. 



GEIBEL. 



SONG. 

I am the meadow rose, I ween, 
In fragrant beauty gleaming ; 

And thou, love, the clew serene, 
Within its bosom beaming. 

I am the jewel, dark, obscure, 
Just dug from deepest mine ; 

And thou the sunlight glowing pure, 
That makes its lustre shine. 

I am the goblet, crystalline, 

From which the emperor drinks ; 

And thou the rich and purple wine, 
That through it glows and blinks. 



172 song. . 

I am the dark cloud, driving free, 
And veiling distant skies ; 

And thou the rainbow, spanning me' 
With rare and brilliant dyes. 

I am the Memnon, voiceless, lone, 
In desert darkness lying ; 

And thou, within my breast, the tone 
To rosy morn replying. 

I am a man, who wanders wide, 
Through error's gloomy night ; 

And thou, God's angel, sent to guide 
My weary steps aright. 



PEEGOLE SI. 

Now at last, his work he endeth, 
And the pious Master sendeth, 

Grateful thanks to Heaven's throne 
Then break forth in glorious pealing, 
Through the temple's lofty ceiling, 

Holy hymn and organ tone ! 

Stabat mater dolorosa 
Juxta crucem lacrymosa, 

Dum pendebat films, 
Cujus animam gementem 
Contristatam ac dolentem 

Pertransivit gladius. 



174 PERGOLESI. 

And the virgin mother's anguish, 
Makes each heart with sorrow languish, 

While the organ louder swells, — 
Till in music's heavenly tide, 
Grief itself is satisfied, 

And the tear of pity wells. 

Quis est homo, qui non fleret, 
Christi matrem si videret 

In tanto supplicio, 
Quis non posset contristari 
Piam matrem contemplari 

Dolentem cum filio. 



Holy fear and earnest longing, 

O'er the Master's soul come thronging, 

Preluding that death is nigh ; 
Then with faith ecstatic burning, 
See him to the altar turning, 

To the Virgin throne'd high. 



PERGOLESI. 175 



Virgo virginum pr^eclara, 
Mihi jam non sis amara, 

Fac me tecum plangere, 
Fac ut portem Christi mortem 
Passionis ego sortem 

Et plagas recolere. 

Hark ! seraphic voices singing, 
From the heavenly regions bringing 

Wondrous music down to men ; 
Holy spirit's earthward fly, 
Bear the Master's soul on high, 

And the song ascends again. 

Fac me cruce custodiri, 
Morte Christi preemuniri, 

Confoveri gratia ; 
Quando corpus morietur, 
Fac ut animae donetur 

Paridisi gloria. 



L ONGING. 

I look on the world, and I look in my heart, 
Till the gathering tears from my eyelids start ; 
Bright shine th the distance, with radiant glow, 
But the North still detains rae, I cannot go. 

! the limits so close, and the world so wide, 
And so swift is time's tide ! 

1 know a far land where, 'mid sunniest green, 
Near a ruined temple, the vine blooms are seen ; 
Where, along the shore, the purple wave gleams, 
And, of coming singers, the laurel-tree dreams ; 
It allureth my soul, by night and by day, 

But I cannot away. 



LONGING. 177 

! had I but wings, how quick would I fly 
To bathe in the sunlight that fills its blue sky ! 
Vain longing ! and fife glides so fleetly away ; 
O'er my lost youth I mourn, and cease my sad lay. 
! the limits so close, and the world so wide, 
And so swift- is time's tide! 



12 



A RHINE LEGEND. 

By the Rhine, the broad green river, 
How softly glows the night ! 

The vine-clad hills are sleeping, 
In the moonbeam's golden light. 



And, on the hillside, walketh 
A kingly shadow down, 

With sword and purple mantle, 
And heavy golden crown. 



'Tis Charlemagne, the Emperor, 
Who, with a powerful hand, 

For many a hundred years, 
Hath ruled in German-land. 



A HEINE LEGEND. 179 



The royal tomb forsaking, 
From Aix lie cometh there, 

To bless once more Ins vineyards, 
And breathe their fragrant air. 



By Rudesheim, on the water, 
The moon doth brightly shine, 

And buildeth a bridge of gold, 
Across the broad green Rhine. 



The Emperor walketh over, 

And, all along the tide, 
Bestows his benediction, 

On the vineyards far and wide. 

Then to his grave returneth, 

In slumber to remain, 
Till the new year's fragrant clusters 

Shall lure him forth again. 



180 A KHINE LEGEND. 

But let us fill our glasses, 

And drink, with the golden wine. 

The German hero-spirit, 

And its hero-strength divine. 



THE MAIDEN'S SONGS 

T. 

The purple-streaked carnations, 
That in my garden shone, 

Must wither now and perish, 
For thou art gone ! 

The flames, that once so brightly, 
My hearth-stone burned upon, 

To ashes now are faded, 
For thou art gone ! 

No star, no flower greets me, 
The world is dark and lone ; 

My heart is wellnigh broken, 
For thou art gone ! 



182 the maiden's songs. 

II. 

How sweet were the sunny blue skies, 

When the trees were all bloomy with May, 

Ere the lovelight that spake from your eyes, 
Forever had vanished away. 

The blossoms are long ago scattered, 
Chill autumn hath banished sweet May, 

And cruel neglect, too, hath shattered 
My beautiful dreams all away. 

III. 

Good night, my heart, and slumber on, 
Through autumn's fading hours ; 

What canst thou do, the sunshine gone — 
And all the flowers ! 

Thy pains, thy joys, alike are dead, 

The songs of spring are o'er, 
For thee Love's rose, so purple-red, 

Shall bloom no more. 



THE maiden's songs. 183 

With carols sweet, the traitor knave 

To other lands hath gone ; 
And thou? — Within the quiet grave, 

Sleep on, sleep on. 



THE VAYVOD'S DAUGHTER 

Far, far within the forest shade, 

A dwelling stands aloof, 
Cold icicles about the eaves, 

The deep snow on the roof. 

And, by the hearth, a maiden sits, 

Spinning her bridal tire, 
While down the chimney moans the wind, 

And stirs the flickering fire. 

In walks the Wood-witch, who doth e'er 

But evil tidings bring ; 
" Good even, pretty maid, to thee 

A little song I'll sing." 



the vatvod's daughter. 185 

" What are thy little songs to me ? 

My lover soon will come ; 
There 's bread and beer, take what you will, 

And haste thee to thy home." 

Back spake the crone, " There 's time enough, 

He ne'er will come again, 
The wood is deep, the way is long, 

Another path he 's ta'en." 



" Why fright me with imagined woe ? 

My lover true will be ; 
He swore it, till, from out the snow, 

A rose should bloom for me." 



Thus answered she, yet anxious grew, 
And heard the wind with fear ; 

And still the crone remained, and sang 
These dread words in her ear : 



186 the vayvod's daughter. 

"As through the lonely dell I passed, 
Three savage wolves outsprung; 

Each howled as from a merry feast, 
And showed a bloody tongue. 



" And when the grove of pines I trod, 
I heard three ravens cry, — 

Our little ones shall have indeed 
A rare treat bye and bye. 

"And when I reached the frozen lake, 
A young man there I found ; 

On every side his blood poured out, 
From many a ghastly wound. 



" Thus from the winter snow so cold, 
A rose hath bloomed, you see ; 

The way is long, the wood is deep, 
He ne'er will come to thee." 



the vayvod's daughter. 187 

The voice was still — the crone had gone — 

The fire no longer glowed ; 
Speechless the maiden sitteth there, 

How wan her pale cheeks showed ! 



And louder jet the ravens screamed, 

Whistled the wind more wild ; 
And, e'er three days, the Vayvod mourned 
Above his buried child. 



WHEN TWO HEARTS PART FOREVER 

When two hearts part forever, 

Which once did fondly love, 
No greater anguish ever 

Could all the spirit move. 
sad word, ringing o'er and o'er, 
Farewell, farewell, foreverniore ! 



When first it dawned upon me, 
That love could fade away, 

It was as though, from heaven, 
The sun should fall by day ; 

So strangely rang it o'er and o'er, 

Farewell, farewell, forevermore ! 



WHEN TWO HEARTS PART FOREVER. 189 

My life's sweet spring hath vanished ; 

Ah ! why so quickly flown ? 
The lip once warm with kisses, 

Hath cold and silent grown. 
This only, clearly spake she o'er, 
Farewell, farewell, forevermore ! 



DANTE. 

Through Verona's streets, great Dante 
Sad and lonely walked one day, 

Whom the Florentines had banished 
From his father-land away. 

Heard he then a little maiden, 
When she saw him passing by, 

Speaking to her younger sister, 

Who by chance was sitting nigh ; ■ — 

"Look! there goes the poet, Dante, 

Who descended into hell ; 
Mark ! how, on his gloomy forehead, 

Pain and anguish seem to dwell. 



DANTE. 191 

" For within that realm of sorrow, 
On such dread things did he look, 

That, with terror filled, forever 
Smiles of joy his face forsook." 

Turning then, the voice of Dante 

On the silence calmly fell, 
" Smiles of joy to lose forever, 

Needs it not descend to hell. 

" All the grief, the pain, I sang of, 

All that can the spirit wound, 
Here, upon this earth already, 

Have I now in Florence found." 



THE MORNING WALK. 

Let him rise at break of day, 

Who would wander free from care, 
Then the wood is still alway, 
Not a breeze doth rustle there. 
E'en the lark is sleeping still, 
Only 'mid the grass some rill 
Softly sings its morning prayer. 

Nature, like a volume lies, 

Where, in lines of every hue, 
Many a sentence meets our eyes, 
Telling God is ever true. 

Leaf and flower, near and far, 
And the silver morning-star, 
Of his kindness witness too. 



THE MORNING WALK. 193 

Then do aspirations high 

All the soul to heaven raise, 
To the heart love cometh nio-h. 

Softly comes and knocks always, — 
Knocking till its gates unclose, 
And the mouth with song o'erflows, 
Full of loud, exultant praise. 

Suddenly the nightingale 

From the copse his song doth fling; 
.Echo wakes o'er hill and dale, 
Soaring up on joyous wing ; 
And the morning's rosy ray 
Joins with fiery glow to say, — 
Let us all God's praises sing ! 



13 



THE TWO ANGELS. 

Know' ST thou, my heart, the sister-angel pair, 
Sent down to earth from holy realms above — 
Peace-giving Friendship, with her lilies fair, 
And, crowned with roses, soul-enkindling Love ? 

Dark-haired is Love, in brilliant vesture glowing, 
Beauteous as spring, quick budding on the hill ; 
Friendship, fair-haired, in softer colors showing, 
And like the summer night, so mild and still. 

Love is a stormy sea, upon whose breast, 
A thousand waves in ceaseless tumult move ; 
Friendship, a mountain lake, where calmly rest 
The clear reflections of the heavens above. . 



THE TWO ANGELS. 195 

Love cometli quick, as lightning's sudden glare, — 
But Friendship, like the moonbeam's glimmering 

light; 
Love, to possess and hold, will all things dare, 
While Friendship asketh, though she claims no 

right. • 

heart, thrice happy heart, in which forever 
The two, in friendly intercourse abide, 
And where the rose's ardent flame may never 
The lily's soft and modest beauty hide. 



GAZE NOT ON ME. 

Gaze not on me so tenderly, 
Thou roselet fair, thou slender roe, 
That glance delighting all, to me 
But bringeth grief and bitter woe. 
Sadder my heart grows ever, 

Beneath thy friendly eye, 
For love's fond dream forever 
Hath passed me by. 

0! were I young and blithe as thou, 
So full of life and purity, 
With what deep joy and rapture now 
Would this glad heart respond to thee ! 
What blissful dreams each hour 
Would then enweave for me ! 
But ah ! who looks for flower 
On withered tree ? 



GAZE NOT ON ME. 197 

My life hath reached its evening-red, 
Thine basketh in morn's golden raj : 
My heart is cold, my heart is dead, 
Thine beateth in youth's jocund play. 
Far in the distance burneth 

The star that lures thee on, 
But back my spirit turneth, 
To days long gone. 

Then gaze not thou so tenderly, 
roselet fair ! slender roe ! 
That glance delighting all, to me 
But bringeth grief and bitter woe. 
Let me depart, a rover 

O'er every land and wave ; 
Thou 'It find a dearer lover, 
And I — a grave ! 



FRIEDEICH ROTH BART 

Far within the lone Kyffhauser, 
With a lamp red glimmering by, 

Sits the aged Emperor, Frederick, 
At a marble table nigh. 



Covered with a purple mantle, 
And in armor glancing bright, 

Still upon his moveless eyelids 
Lieth slumber's heavy night. 

On his features, calm yet earnest, 
Love and sternness each is shown, 

And his beard, so long and golden, 
Through the marble stone hath grown. 



FRIEDRICH ROTHBART. 199 

Here, like brazen statues standing, 
All his knights their lord surround, 

Sword begirt, in armor gleaming, 
But like him in slumber bound. 



Henry, he of Ofterdingen, 

'Mid the silent ranks is there, 

With his lips so skilled in singing, 
And his yellow curling hair. 

By his side his harp reclineth, 
Like its master, voiceless now, 

But a coming song is sleeping 
Yet, upon his noble brow. 



All is silent, save the moisture, 
Dropping slowly from the wall, 

Silent, till the appointed morning 
Breaks in glory over all. 



200 FRIEDBJCH ROTHBART. 

Till the eagle's mighty pinions, 
Round the mountain-summit play, 

At whose rush the swarming ravens, 
Quick affrighted, flee away. 

Comes a sound like far-off thunder, 
Rolling through the mountain then, 

And the Emperor grasps his sword-hilt, 
And the knights awake again. 

Loud upon its hinges sounding, 
Open springs the brazen door, 

Barbarossa and his followers 

Walk in bright array once more. 

On his helm, the crown he beareth, 
And the sceptre in his hand, 

Swords are glancing, harps are ringing, 
Where he moveth through the land. 



FRIED RICH ROTHBART. 201 

All before the monarch bending, 
Render him the homage clue, 

And the holy German Empire 
Foundeth he at Aix anew. 



AT A FEAST. 

! fill up the goblets with Cyprian wine, 
Till blinks through the crystal its purple-hued shine ; 
Then hastily quaff of the short-lived delight, — 
So fleeting 's love's kiss, so swift is youth's flight. 

The roses are blushing with odorous gleam, 

The stars sparkle bright in the depths of the 

stream ; 
But roses and starlight we reckon less high 
Than the bloom of the cheek, the light of the eye. 

Through leaf-shaded bowers, the colored lights 

glance, 
Where moves 'neath the foliage melodious the 

dance ; 



AT A FEAST. 203 

Round the form of the fair one, close twineth each 

arm, 
And, with glances responsive, each heart throbbeth 

warm. 

Such riot ! such kissing ! while, gliding o'erhead, 
The moon on the earth her brilliance doth shed ; 
Be happy ! but when the gay lights flicker low, 
Who can tell whether love will not vanish also ? 

I too once confided in love and in truth, 
Believing the promise of spring-time and youth ; 
The storm-winds of autumn around me did roar, 
I looked for the flowers — but found them no more. 

Then hastily quaff from the goblet's bright flow, 
Catch quick what the swift passing hours bestow, 
Enjoying these moments while haply they stay, 
For ah! love will vanish — and youth fade away. 



EVENING SONG OF A WEARY ONE 

The evening red hath left the sky, 
From far a voice is ringing ; 

'Tis death, perhaps, who cometh nigh 
To lull me with his singing. 
Sing to me now, 

! songster, thou, 

Thy gentle peace quick bringing. 

A downy bed the turf will prove, 
Cool cypress murmuring o'er, 

For there the past, with all its love, 
Can never vex me more. 
Nor joy nor worth, 

1 leave on earth, 

For grief was all my store. 



EVENING SONG OF A WEARY ONE. 205 

Farewell ! thou weary world, to me 
Thy charms as nought do seem, 
The loss of all that pleaseth thee, 
But happiness I deem. 
And now the night, 
Comes soft and light, 
Oh ! let me rest and dream. 



SPRING SONGS. 

I. 

Spring is a hero, bold and keen, 

A knight of peerless bearing, 
The red rose, on a field of green, 

For arms and token wearing. 

He swung with strong and ceaseless stroke, 

His sword of sunbeams gay, 
And soon the silver mail he broke, 

Of winter's cold array. 



And now, with sweet, triumphant song, 
He moves o'er sea and vale, 

Before him, sending first along 
The herald nightingale. 



SPRING SONGS. 207 

His summons, jubilant and clear, 

Resounds on every side, 
And all who hear it, far and near, 

Their hearts must open wide ; — 



Must open wide to him, I ween, 
Nor dare his claims disprove, 

And homage pay to his fair Queen, 
The gentle Queen of Love. 



II. 



! wherefore is the spring so fair, 
With perfume, light, and song, 

Since, carolling o'er hill and plain, 
So swift he hastes along ? 



208 • SPRING SONGS. 

And wherefore is the dream so sweet, 
That first-love weaves alway, 

Since, quicker than the blossom frail, 
It ever fades away ? 

And yet such warmth it leaves behind, 
So rich the heart doth seem, 

That, to have drunk of this pure fount, 
Fate's kindliest gift, I deem. 

All happiness the heart can know 
Was mine, through love's brief day ; 

Its sun hath set beneath the vale, 
Now let aught come that may. 



Or bitter pain, or joy renewed, 
Alike endured shall be, 

For memory of the happy past 
Can ne'er be ta'en from me. 



SPRING SONGS. 209 



ni. 



From out yon tent of clouds, the sun 
Darts forth his sudden beams ; 

Through wood and vale soft murmurs run 
Of leaves and babbling streams. 

As melt away the ice and snow, 
Green grows the hamlet o'er, 

And the warm south wind whispers low,— 
" Wake violets, wake once more." 

gentle sounds that fill the plain! 

first sweet breath of spring ! 
Now blooms and sings the earth again, 

And all my soul doth sing. 
14 



210 SPRING SONGS. 

While, day by day, the heavens we see. 

In softer azure drest, 
I prithee, say, what causeth me 

This longing and unrest ? 



So full, so full, my heart doth seem, 

As though it bloomed anew ; 
Returnest thou, Youth's sweet dream ? 

Returnest thou, Love, too ? 



CITA MORS RUIT. 

A rider swift is Death, I ween, 
Fleeter than morning's rosy sheen, 
Or lightning's vivid dart; 
His steed is pale, no bridle knows, 
His bow resounds, the arrow goes 
Unerring to the heart. 

Through city vast, through hamlet low, 
In morning's red or evening's glow, 
O'er mount and vale, he flies ; 
And, following in his course, we hear 
The church bells tolling loud and clear, 
And burial dirges rise. 



212 CITA MORS RUIT. 

Into the palace proud he roams; 
How pale the haughty guest becomes! 
Quick leaves he love and wines. 
The wedding feast he walks about, 
A cold gust blows the tapers out, 
Pallid the bride reclines. 

A look upon the judge he takes, 

And ere the white death-wand he breaks, 

It falleth at his feet. 

A maiden twineth leaf and rose ; 

He draweth near, how sad she grows ! 

Who will the wreath complete ? 

Then mortal, be of lowly mind, 

To Death, as chaff before the wind, 

Thy feeble strength is like. 

The sands run fast, life's hour is brief, 

And, ere a breath can stir this leaf, 

Thy passing hour may strike. 



ONWARD. 

Cease this dreaming ! Cease this trembling ! 

Still, unwearied, struggle on ; 
Though thy strength should almost fail thee, 

Onward, be the word alone. 

Dare not tarry, though the present 

Scatter roses in thy way ; 
Though to thee, from out the ocean, 

Syrens sing their luring lay. 

Onward ! Onward ! "With thy singing, 
'Gainst the world's sharp griefs contend, 

Till upon thy cheeks' hot burning, 
Golden rays from heaven descend: 



214 ONWARD. 

Till thy brow, the thick-leaved garland, 

Like a halo, shall surround ; 
Till the Spirit's flame, all brightly, 

Hovering o'er thee shall be found. 

Onward ! then, through all opposing, 

Onward ! still, through death's dark pain, 

He must wrestle on, unyielding, 

Who the bliss of Heaven would gain. 



THE MAIDEN IN HADES. 

Oh ! happy are the verdant meadow-lands, 
And happy are the lofty mountain-peaks, 
That never may on gloomy Hades look. 
Cold winter comes to sparkle them with frost, 
Or cover them with flaky drifts of snow ; 
Cometh the springtime, greening them anew, 
With fragrant flowers and aromatic herbs, 
And the bright sunlight slumbering over all ; 
But ne'er in Hades doth the sunlight break, 
To drive the shadowy darkness far away. 

It chanced upon a time, three giants swore 
To penetrate the hidden realm of shades, 
And going down the dark and gloomy way, 
Three weary days and nights they wandered on, 
Until they reached the kingdom of the dead. 



216 THE MAIDEN IN HADES. 

But when the dreary land they had explored, 
And 'gan to turn them to the light again, 
There came a maiden, fair and beautiful, 
With golden hair and cheeks all snowy pale, 
Imploring thus, with sweet and mournful voice : 
" ! take me back with you, ye giants dear, 
That I may once again behold the sun, 
And the red flowerets blooming on the plain." 
To whom the mighty giants answer made ; — 
" Thy silken garments rustle round thy limbs, 
Thy long fair hair floats whispering in the wind, 
And on thy feet thy sandals echoes raise ; 
We cannot take thee back, maiden fair, 
Lest Charon, the grim ferryman, detect us." 

Again, with sweet sad voice, the maiden spake 
" These silken garments will I lay aside, 
These flowing locks will sever from my head, 
And leave my sandals here upon the stairs ; 
Then take me back with you, giants dear, 
That I may see again my brothers twain, 
How by the hearth they sit bewailing me ; 



THE MAIDEN IN HADES. 217 

That I may hear my mother's sad complaints, 
Weeping within the cottage smoke-begrimed, 
For me, her darling daughter, ta'en away." 

And once again the giants answer made ; — 
" Remain content, among the pale-faced shades ; 
In song and wine thy brothers pass the day, 
While gossips in the street thy mother dear alway." 



KING POET. 

The poet stands, with magic wand, 
Upon his cloud-girt throne, 

And, looking down on sea and land, 
Beholdeth every zone. 



From far and near, to grace his hymn, 

He seeks the fairest, best ; 
With richest offerings, on him, 

Attend both east and west. 



By golden fountains, causeth he 
The Arab palm to grow ; 

And, 'neath the fragrant linden-tree, 
The violet to blow. 



KING POET. 219 

The rose revealeth, at his nod, 

Her rarest purple sweets ; 
And, glimmering on the azure flood, 

The moon the lotus greets. 

He sinketh down to deepest mine, 
Diveth to ocean's springs, 

From whence the ruby's ruddy shine, 

\ 

The purest pearls, he brings. 

Its music to the swan he gives ; 

Bids nightingale outgush ; 
And, in his song, he proudly weaves 

Both morn and evening's flush. 



He makes the wide and boundless sea 
With billowy waves to move ; 

Yea, sun and moon and stars doth he 
Create in heaven above. 



220 KING POET. 

And, all alike, in every way 
Would him as monarch greet ; 

While he his mighty realm doth lay, 
At the beloved's feet. 



GONDOLA SONG. 

! come to me, when silently 

The silver stars are gliding, 
And, gently, on the moonlit sea, 

Our gondola is riding. 
Like love's sweet breath, the soft winds are, 

Bright shines the golden moon ; 
And list! from far the light guitar 

Rings out its merry tune. 
! come to me, when silently 

The silver stars are gliding, 
And, gently, on the moonlit sea, 

Our gondola is riding. 

This is the hour for those who love, 
Dearest, like thee and me ; 



222 GONDOLA SONG. 

So tranquil bend the heavens above, 

So tranquil sleeps the sea. 
And, while it sleeps, thy looks reveal 

What words may never tell ; 
My lips from thine sweet kisses steal, 

Thine answer back as well. 
! come to me, when silently 

The silver stars are gliding, 
And, gently, on the moonlit sea, 

Our gondola is riding. 



THE PAGE. 

Since, as vain dreams, I must banish 
All the hopes that filled my breast, 

Let me only kiss the threshold, 
Which thy fairy foot hath prest. 

Since, as knight and equal, never 
May I happy near thee wend, 

Let me, as thy page, still ever 
To the mass thy steps attend. 

I will be discreet and faithful, 
Daily watch thy slightest nod, 

Nightly at thy threshold lying, 
Though the tempest howls abroad ; 



224 THE PAGE. 

Every morn, with modest greeting, 
Dewy roses to thee bring, 

At thy feet, each evening sitting, 
To my lute sweet music sing; 



Bridle too thy snow-white courser, 
When to early hunt you'd ride, 

Through the forest spaces, bearing 
Spear and falcon at thy side. 

In the path of love, to serve thee, 
All alert my feet shall prove ; 

At the gate with drawn sword guarding, 
While you kiss the friend you love. 

Doing all without a murmur, 
Asking nothing, loud or low, 

If, when all is done, as guerdon, 
But a smile you will bestow ; 



THE PAGE. 225 

When thine eye, a star of blessing, 

Guiding all my onward way, 
But a single glance doth deign me, 

From thy bright sphere far away. 



15 



THE STAG AND ROE. 

Where the fir-trees rustle gently, 

On Olympus' lofty crown, 
Stands a stag beside a fountain, 

On the valley looking down. 
Tears he sheddeth, gushing tear-drops, 

Large as berries, red as blood, 
As a lover oft-times poureth, 

From his eyes, the bitter flood. 

Comes a roe towards him springing, — 
Little roe with spotted hide, 

Sees the gushing tear-drops falling, 
On the grass the fount beside ; 



THE STAG AND ROE. 227 

Asks, " why such tears art shedding, 

Large as berries, red as blood, 
As a lover oft-times poureth, 

From his eyes, the bitter flood ? " 

" In the vale, the Turks are marching, 

For, as up the mount I sprang, 
I did see their sabres glancing, 

Heard their drum-beat's rolling clang ; 
Heard I, too, a mighty baying, 

For, to speed the hunt they sought, 
From Constantinople city, 

Sixty hounds with them they brought." 

Says the roe, " That grieves me little, 

Limbs have I both strong and good, 
O'er each cliff to spring with safety, 

Safe to swim through every flood; 
And the Klephts upon the mountain, 

Arms and ammunition have, 
Turks and hounds to drive together, 

Far into the foaming wave." 



228 THE STAG AND ROE. 

But, when day gave place to evening, 

In the dust the roe did lay, 
On her spotted hide the blood-drops, 

And her flesh the fierce hound's prey. 
And ere morn again had broken, 

Lo ! the stately stag was caught, 
And the Turks laughed scorn at any 

Tidings of the Klephts who sought. 



FAR AWAY. 

Tell nie, my heart, deceived and passion-torn, 
What mean these longings, ceaseless, undefined ? 
Can'st thou, poor heart, so many sorrows borne, 
A rest ne'er find ? 

Thy youth is fled, its sweets forever gone, 
The purple blooms have fallen from life's bough ; 
And ah ! love's blissful hopes, so bright that shone, 
Are vanished now. 

The blooms have fallen, but the thorns remain, 
From whose deep wounds the life-blood ever flows, 
And now but idle longings and wild pain 
My spirit knows. 



230 FAR AWAY. 

And jet, should some one bring me Lethe's wave, 
And bid me, " Drink, and thou shalt quickly know 
The rest, the peace, forgetfulness may have," 
I'd answer, no. 

Though o'er the past's dim, faded dream I mourn, 
So fair it was, so full of bliss did prove, 
That even now, within my heart forlorn, 
I still must love. 

Upon my weary way, then let me go, 
Some resting-place to seek, by night and day, 
Where, with my dying song, life's love and woe 
To breathe away. 



FAREWELL. 

This parting cup, I drink to thee, 

Thou beauteous foreign strand, 
Yet mournfully, for thou to me 

Art dear as native land. 
Farewell ! farewell ! our white sails feel 

The breezes o'er them play, 
And, swiftly now, our boat's sharp keel 

Ploughs through the emerald way. 

The sun sinks in the island-mere, 

The heavens are rosy-red, 
And yonder gleams the cottage, where 

Our parting words were said. 
Beloved, how gladly would I rest 

Forever on thy heart ! 



232 FAREWELL. 

In vain ; and from my longing breast 
This sweet dream must depart. 

! such is life. To come, to go, 

The sport of wave and wind ; 
To meet, to part for aye, nor know 

Where certain rest to find ; 
To be beloved, forgotten be ; 

To love — sad heart, be still, 
The evening glory blindeth me, 

My eyes with tear-drops fill. 

'Tis past. My dream of love is o'er ; 

Its joys, its pains are gone ; 
And now, within the world once more, 

This wild heart beats alone. 
So let it be ! Now, o'er the sea, 

The new moon glimmers bright ; 
The shore recedes, — beloved, to thee, 

I breathe this last good-night. 



GIP SE Y LIFE. 

Deep hid in the wood, 'neath the beeches' still 

, shade, 
A moving, a rustling, a whisp'ring is made, 
And flames crackle brightly, whose brilliance is 

thrown 
On forms gay apparelled, on green leaf and stone. 

A wandering tribe of the gipseys is there, 
With eyes wildly glancing and long waving hair ; 
Brought forth where the Nile floweth sacredly by, 
But tanned by the fierceness of Spain's sunny sky. 

Bound the nickering blaze, on the mosses' soft 

green, 
The men are reclining, all savage and keen, 
While, busily working, the women prepare 
Their food, and replenish each goblet with care. 



234 GIPSEY LIFE. 

Like a garden of Spain, as blooming and gay, 
With laughter and music they talk and they play, 
While mystical answers, of loss or of fear, 
A crone utters loud to the crowd waiting near. 

The maidens, so dark-eyed, begin then the dance, 
Where glimmer the torches with rosy-red glance ; 
Clear rings the guitar with the cymbal's loud tone, 
As wilder and wilder the dance rusheth on. 

Till, silent and weary, in slumber they lie, 

Above them the beech leaves, soft murmuring nigh ; 

And now, through the wide world doomed ever to 

rove, 
They visit in sweet dreams the land of their love. 

Yet when in the gray east the morning light 

gleams, 
Forgotten is night and its beautiful dreams ; 
Loud paweth each mule at the breaking of day, 
The gay forms move onward, ah ! whither away ? 



O YOUTH. 

youth ! thou green and sunny bower, 

Where love its fragrant rose doth rear ! 

The rustling of thy leaves no more, 

Alas! no more, as erst I hear; 

The heart, song-full to overflow, 

The trusting glance, the fearless brow, 

The poet-soul, with hope aglow, 

! say, ! say, where are they now ? 

Too soon there came a darker day, 
When doubts 'gan creep into my breast, 
When love's fond dreams all fled away, 
And joy no more remained my guest. 
And now the future, to my view, 
No longer wears its wonted gold, 



236 YOUTH. 

I only see the sombre hue 

Of dark clouds, round its mountains rolled. 

Yet patient be ! Though time hath ta'en 
The blossoms of thy spring away, 
I know 'mid loneliness and pain, 
The ripening fruit matures alway. 
A longing, which can ne'er depart, 
In this sad bosom lives and grows, 
As, in the sea-shell's secret heart, 
The pearl its deepening lustre shows. 

No more despair my soul can shake, 
To this I'll cling through grief and pain ; 
And, if the strife my heart should break, 
Then shall this longing, wings attain, 
And boldly mount aloft with me, 
Down dropping music like a shower, 
And gently bear me home to thee, 
! youth, thou green and sunny bower ! 



SONGS. 

I. 

Abe the bright stars tender lambkins, 
Which, when daylight shines no more, 
Night, the gentle shepherdess, 
Leads o'er heaven's azure floor ? 

Or are they pure silver lilies, 
Dropping from their cups of snow, 
Delicate and slumb'rous fragrance, 
On the weary world below ? 

Or are they but gleaming tapers, 
On the altar beaming bright, 
When the ample dome of heaven, 
Dusky is with holy night ? 



238 songs. 

"No, they are but silver letters. 
Myriad messages of love, 
Written, by the gentle angels, 
In the azure book above. 



II. 



The quiet lotus-lily 
Floats on the lakelet blue, 
Its soft leaves glow and glisten. 
Its cup of snowy hue.' 



The fair moon smileth on her, 
Through all the summer night, 
And, on her fragrant bosom, 
Pours clown her golden light. 



songs. 239 



Over the rippling water, 
Glideth a snow-white swan, 
He singeth, sweet and softly, 
The lily gazing on ; — 

He singeth sweet and softly, 
It is his death-song's flow, 
! flower, snow-white flower, 
Dost thou its meaning know ? 



III. 



At eve, when o'er the rosy sea, 
The sunset faded more and more, 
We wandered 'neath the beechen tree 
That stands beside the lonely shore. 



240 SONGS. 

We saw the fair moon rise, and heard, 
From distant groves, the nightingale ; 
Breathed the sweet air, but spake no word, 
For what can words the heart avail ? 



Oh! these are idle to express 
The love they only serve to hide, 
The tender glance, the mute caress, 
With these the heart is satisfied. 



IV. 

Thou gentle eve of spring-time, 
How sweet thy moments are ! 
Yon clouded skies above us, 
With here and there a star ! 



SONGS. 241 

Like the tender breath of love, 



'•> 



The soft airs play around, 
And the sunny smell of violets 
Perfumeth all the ground. 

I would compose a lyric, 
In beauty like to thee, 
But find no words so tender, 
So full of melody. 



Would I might die as dies the swan, 
Who, o'er the lakelet slowly winging, 

While on his azure pathway borne, 
Breathes life away in sweetest singing. 
16 



.242 songs. 

His song is hushed, when from each hill, 
With golden kiss, the sunset waneth ; 

Yet, all night long, its echo still, 

In bush and murmuring tree, remaineth. 



! might such happiness be mine, 

So singing, would that death might find me, 
That I some echo sweet, divine, 

In Father-land might leave behind me. 



But only to the few belong 

This richest boon to mortals given ; 

Upon my lips, no deathless song 

Shall bear me on its wings to heaven. 



But, I shall vanish voicelessly, 

In silence to the dark grave going, 

And undisturbed my rest shall be, 

The world no thought on me bestowing. 



songs. 243 



VI. 



Biedling, whither now, I pray ? 
" Northward far I wing my way ; 
There the sun shines warm and clear, 
'Tis the spring-time of the year." 



Birdling, when, on mottled wing, 
'Mid the linden leaves, you sing, 

Where my gentle love doth dwell, 
Tell her, that, by night and day, 

Lives she in my heart alway ; 

Tell her, that I love her well. 



And the flowerets of the plain, 
Kiss them o'er and o'er again. 



244 songs. 



YII. 



Golden bridges, truly, 
Are all songs to me, 
Over which love wanders, 
Dearest one, to thee. 



And my dreams' light wings, 
Still, in joy or pain, 
Bear me, every night, 
To thy heart again. 



vm. 



Love, amid the roses, sang, 

Like a nightingale ; 
Passing sweet the music rang, 

Over wood and vale. 



songs. 245 

While he sang, the fragrance there 

Rose from myriad flowers ; 
Softly sighed the enamored air, 

Through the leafy bowers. 

Silently, adown the hill, 

Crept the listening stream ; 
And the little fawn stood still, 

Still, as in a dream. 



And ever, near and nearer, ' 
Gleamed the gold-red sun; 

And clearer still and clearer, 
On flower and greenwood shone. 



I, too, chanced that way along, 
Hearing Love's sweet tone ; 

And, forevermore, my song 
Echoes love alone. 



246 songs. 



IX. 



When with sap the grapevine swells, 
Comes the roaming swallow; 
When the eye with sorrow wells, 
Love will quickly follow. 

Tender leaf and blossom fair, 
Open day by day ; 
Maiden, of thy heart take care, 
Lest it steal away ! 



X. 



Will no one tell me, pray, 

Why throbs this heart of mine ? 

What aileth me, I cannot say, 
Cannot divine. 



songs. 247 



As in a vague dream, wanders 
My restless soul in me ; 

On thee alone it ponders, 
Alone on thee. 



The world is nothing to me, 
Since first I met thine eye ; 

Would I might clasp thee to me. 
Kiss thee and die. 



From fife I'd gladly go, 

For but one smile from thee ; 

And thou — no cause I know — 
Refusest me. 



Is't fate or thine own will, 
That from me all hope takes ? 

Flow, flow, my tears, until 
This sad heart breaks. 



248 songs. 



XL 

A wreath of corn-flowers I will place 

Amid thy ringlets fair ; 
So brightly shows its azure grace 

Upon thy golden hair. 

I dearly love this garland blue, 

It ever speaks of thee ; 
And tells me, none could be so true 

As thou art, love, to me. 

And, gazing on its hue, that is 
So like the heavens above, 

I dream of all the perfect bliss 
I find within thy love. 



songs. 249 



xn. 



My heart is like the gloomy night, 
When winds through tree-tops roar ; 
Then comes the moon, in splendor bright, 
And, 'neath her light, 
See, how the tossing boughs are still and calm 
once more ! 

Thou art the silver moon to me, 
And, when, in thy pure eyes, 
The tender glance of love, I see, 
Wild passions flee, 
And all my restless soul in slumb'rous quiet lies. 



XIII. 



Look on yon sea. Upon its surface glows 
The sunshine bright, 



250 SONGS. 

But far within its depths, where pearls repose, 
Is deepest night. 

That sea am I. Wild, billowy passions sway 

My restless soul ; 
While, on the waves, my songs like sunbeams play, 

And gild the whole. 

They glimmer oft with pleasure's magic art, 

With love and jest ; 
But, silently, bleeds on my gloomy heart, 

Deep in my breast. 



XIV. 

The roses bloom no longer, 
But lilies deck the field, 



SONGS. 251 



O'er which the sky is bending 
Its azure-beaming shield. 



Go thou too, Love, forever, 
With all thy pleasing pain, 

That, hi my breast may glimmer 
The light of peace again. 

Now, free from restless longing, 
What joy the world doth yield ; 

The roses bloom no longer, 
But lilies deck the field. 



XY. 

Heart of mine, no longer mourn, 
From thee cast this yoke aside ; 

Much already hast thou borne, 
Even this thou canst abide. 



252 SONGS. 

On, in shining armor, go, 
! my spirit, and be free ; 

Nought avails it sighing so, 
Like a lover piningly. 

Though thy breast with anguish bleeds, 
Onward press, without delay; 

Sings the swan among the reeds, 
Sweetest, when life ebbs away. 



XVI. 



Often has my mother told me, 
That, — behind yon mountain high. 

Round whose lofty summit ever, 
Clouds and vapors linger nigh, — 

Grows the plant they call oblivion, 
Hidden in the hollows lone : 



songs. 253 

Knew I but the pathway thither, 

Day and night I'd wander on, 
And would quickly pluck its leaflets, 

Drinking them in ruby wine ; 
Till thy love I had forgotten, 

And those false, false vows of thine, 
And the eyes which once, so often, 

Spake to me with tender shine, 
And the lips so full of sweetness, 

Once so fondly pressed to mine. 



xvn. 

A wasting fire creepeth 

Thro' every vein ; 
Close as my shadow keepeth 

This weary pain. 



254 songs. 

I hear the slow hours ring, 

So mournfully ; 
They come, they go, but bring 

No change to me. 

The summer passeth by, 

Dream-like I ween ; 
The wild rose bloometh nigh, 

By me unseen. 
Singe th the nightingale, 

In wood and plain ; 
Cease, cease thy warbling wail, 

'Tis all in vain. 

This mournful truth alone 

I feel alway ; 
That thou from me art gone, 

Far, far away. 
Close as my shadow keepeth 

This weary pain ; 
A wasting fire creepeth 

Thro' every vein. 



songs. 255 



XVIII. 



Once, day and night, without control, 
I wept with grief and pain ; 
But now, I weep because my soul 
Cannot its joy contain. 

For in my breast, without alloy, 
The bliss of Heaven appears ; 
Thus deepest grief and highest joy 
Find utterance each in tears. 



XIX. 



Now I hold thee, face to face, 
Clasped within my warm embrace, 
From these dewy lips of thine, 
Quaffing kisses all divine. 



256 songs. 

Fortune now hath nothing more, 
In her rich and ample store, 
Nothing half so sweet to me, 
As the joy I find in thee. 

What care I, though darkest night 
Covers all things from my sight ? 
Still I find, within thine eyes, 
All the light of starry skies. 



EALLERSLEBEN 



17 



SONGS 



The green leaves rustle far and near, 
The flowerets bloom again, 

And, from the nightingale, I hear 
The old delicious strain. 

! happy he whose heart may feel 

The bliss that springtime doth reveal! 

Thro' wood and field I'd gladly go, 
And with the wild birds sing, 

While thus, with happiness, I know 
The whole wide world doth ring. 

But why for song and floweret care, 

Since thou art wanting everywhere ? 



260 SONGS. 

friend beloved ! and shall I see 
Thy gentle face no more ? 

Then is the springtime lost to me, 
Its joy, its beauty o'er. 

For ah ! what pleasure can there be, 

What is a springtime without thee ? 



II. 



See how this hyacinth doth grow, 
Unhurt by wintry storms and snow, 
Serenely smiling all around, 
When other blossoms dead are found. 

Thus may thy heart, so full of love, 
O'er life's fierce tempests victor prove ; 
And thou, when youth's bright dreams are o'er 
Still smile serene like this sweet flower. 



SONGS. 261 



III. 



Would I might with the swallows fly, 

Or with yon cloudlet in the sky, 

O'er hill and vale to haste away, 

Swift as the winge*d wind to-day, 

That I might see and ask of thee., 

So tenderly, so lovingly, 

" Hast ne'er a greeting, sweet, for me ? " 

Still on this cool green bank I rest, — 

May-blossoms falling on my breast, 

A ring-dove softly cooing nigh, — 

And let my dreamy glances fly 

Far o'er the Rhine, to where I see 

The earth and sky blend distantly, 

And think of thee, and think of thee ; — 

And with the swallows long to fly, 
Or with yon cloudlet in the sky, 



262 songs. 

O'er hill and vale to haste away, 

Swift as the winged wind to-day, 

That I might see and ask of thee, 

So tenderly, so lovingly, 

" Hast ne'er a greeting, sweet, for me ? " 



IV. 

Long time, as one in death, I lay, 
But now awake to life and day, 
And once again, with cheerful voice, 
I sing, and in my heart rejoice. 

It was thy blue eyes' gentle light, 
Thy tresses darker than the night, 
And {he sweet kiss thy ripe lips gave, 
That lured me from the darksome grave. 



songs. 263 



V. 



Every thing is still and cold, 
Snowflakes cover field and wold 



'Neath the ice, with muffled song, 
Creeps the rivulet along. 

Crushed to earth's each lifeless flower, 
Silent now each wild-wood bower, 
And the sun moves on its way, 
Veiled in dark clouds, day by day. 

Ah! thus feebly beats my heart, 
Underneath its sorrow's smart, 
And no more love's sunny beam 
O'er my life doth brightly gleam. 



264 songs. 



VI. 



What care I, whether snow falls 

To-morrow or to-day ? 
Or whether gentle springtime 

Drives winter soon away ? 

'When thy sweet eyes smile on me, 
With joy all nature glows, 

And quick, my heart's deep longing 
Doth blossom like the rose. 



VII. 

Yes, thou art mine. 
I'll tell it to the azure sky, 



songs. 265 

At morn, at noon, at dusky night, 
And bid the blissful tidings fly, 

O'er wood and vale and mountain height, — 
Till, far and near, 
All things shall hear 
That thou art mine, 
Forever mine ! 

Yes, thou art mine. 
My heart, thy home, henceforth shall flow 

Its fondest, purest hopes for thee, 
And thou, by love enshrined, shalt know 
How full of joy this life can be, — 
While thus I rest 
Upon thy breast, 
And thou art mine, 
Forever mine ! 



ANONYMOUS. 



"OUR FATHER." 



To the memory of Charles Armand Scheibler, who was lost in 
the ill-fated Arctic, this translation of his favorite hymn is inscribed. 



When with pain and anguish torn, 
All thy heart is filled with sorrow, — 

When in solitude you mourn, 

And despair no hope can borrow, — 

Turn above thy weeping eyes, 

Pray to Him who rules the skies. 

Pray not as the heathen do, 

Idle repetitions making ; 
God, the merciful, doth know 

Every sigh, tho' faintly breaking ; 
As our Saviour taught when here, 
Humbly pray, and God will hear: 



270 " OUR FATHER." 

" Father, who in heaven above, 
Lord of all forever reignest, — ■ 

Yet, to those who trust thy love, 
Gracious answers ever deignest, — 

May thy name and glory be 

Hallowed thro' eternity. 

" May thy kingdom come, Lord, 
Here on earth as 'tis in Heaven, 

And thy sovereign will adored, 
Full obedience to it given ; 

By thy constant bounty fed, 

Give us day by day our bread, 

" Feeling our infirmity, 

And in love and meekness growing, 
May we kind, forbearing be, 

Patience to our neighbor showing ; 
That, as we his faults forgive, 
We thy pardon may receive. 



" OUR FATHER." 271 

" Lest we e'er should go astray, 

Shield us in temptation's hour ; 
Evil lusts to put away, 

Ever grant the needed power; 
Guide our feet thy paths within, 
Make us free from every sin." 

He who thus, with earnest call, 

To the Father humbly prayeth, 
And in Jesus asketh all, 

His "Amen," with gladness sayeth; 
Amen ! yes, so shall it be, 
All thus asked is granted thee. 



BALLAD. 



O'er the foamy waters fly 
Galleys four from Barbary, 
Swift pursuing, as their prey, 
Spanish galleon on its way. 



Newly wedded, two are seen, 
O'er the galleon's side to lean ; 
He, Malliorca's noblest heir, 
She, Valencia's fairest fair. 



Rippling light, the wavelets dance 
Bound the rowers' slow advance, 
For the gentle winds avail 
Scarce to swell the fluttering sail. 



BALLAD. 273 

" Blow, ye breezes, blow once more, 
Waft us to Malliorca's shore, — 
To Love's home, beyond the deep, 
There our nuptial feast to keep ! " 



Soon, above the azure floor, 
Loonieth up the well-known shore, 
And, with joyous hearts, they stand, 
Gazing towards the father-land. 



Ah ! but what are these so near ? 
Now the Moorish galleys steer 
Down upon the galleon's way, 
Like fierce tigers on their prey ! 



Don Fernando draws his sword, — 
He alone of all on board, — 
For, in ghastly terror bound, 
Trembling stand the crew around. 
18 



274 BALLAD. 

Clasped hands for help imploring, 
Silver drops of anguish pouring 
Down her cheeks so rosy-fair, 
. Don Fernando's bride kneels there. 



Nearer still the galleys dark 
Close around the fated bark, 
As a falcon in the sky, 
Circling round the dove doth fly. 

" Holy mother, help us now ! 
To thy children pity show ; 
Shield the dear one at my side, 
Save, oh ! save, my gentle bride ! " 

See ye not their sabres gleam ? 
Hear ye not their taunting scream ? 
Ho, ye christian dogs, it saith, 
Choose ye, slavery or death ! 



BALLAD. 275 



" Mary heedeth not our cry, 
Conies no succor from the sky, — 
Shall we live, their slaves to be ? 
Rather death for thee and me!" 



Swiftly from the vessel's side 
Leaps Fernando with his bride — 
And the sea above them rolls. 
God have mercy on their souls ! 



JOY AND PAIN. 

Near the cradle of each mortal, 

Joy and Pain together glide ;• 
Nurses are they at life's portal, 

Ever after by his side. 
On the right, if Joy is glowing, 

On the left, still beckons Pain ; 
Till the three, together flowing, 

Vanish in Time's solemn main. 



THE END. 




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